


All the different kinds of flowers

by BandanaBanana28, Koori



Series: All The Different Kinds Of Flowers [1]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Angst, Fluff, Historical AU, M/M, Smut, royal au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-22
Updated: 2018-06-29
Packaged: 2019-03-22 16:10:47
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 18
Words: 67,098
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13767735
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BandanaBanana28/pseuds/BandanaBanana28, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Koori/pseuds/Koori
Summary: Being the future Tsar of Russia is never easy, but falling in love with a blue-eyed boy and his sunny, crinkly smile definitely complicates matters even further.A story about too heavy crowns, moonlight, towers, and so so many flowers.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> So me and my friend Androgyne unexpectedly came up with the idea for this fic and really wanted to write it. She wrote the Ziam part of the story and I wrote the Larry part. Here's the link to her side of the story: http://archiveofourown.org/works/13768290  
> (Please read it, it's absolutely fabulous and brilliant, believe me)
> 
> I apologize in advance for all the mistakes that will be made in this crime of a story, please don't take it too seriously. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading, I really hope you will enjoy it. :)

 

_"Keep love in your heart. A life without it is like a sunless garden when the flowers are dead."_

-Oscar Wilde

  


"Your Majesty."

Harry turned around and saw Yegor, his chamber boy, well, technically his servant, but Harry hated that word, standing on the doorstep to his luxurious apartment.

"Don't stand on the doorstep Yegor, you know that's bad luck."

"Yes, I'm sorry your Majesty." Yegor quickly took a step inside the room.

"Could you do me a favour?" Harry asked.

"Yes, of course, your Majesty."

"Please call me Harry. I don't like being called 'your Majesty', especially when I say 'Yegor' to you."

"But I've been calling you 'Your Majesty' for years. I wasn't aware it was a problem for you."

"It's not a problem, just something I don't particularly like. Oh, and please stop apologizing so often. Everyone apologizes to me way too much."

"As you wish, your Majes- Harry."

Harry smiled at him and Yegor shyly smiled back. Harry had known him all his life. They were the same age and had both grown up in the palace but under very different circumstances.  
Harry had always seen Yegor and his siblings play hide-and-seek on the castle grounds and had desperately wanted to play with them, but wasn't allowed to. So while his tutor was teaching him about Russian history, French and Algebra, he had always stared out the window, watching all the children trying to catch each other on the meadow.

But it just wasn't appropriate for a young prince to be running around with servant kids and, god forbid, possibly even get mud on his expensive, delicately embroidered coat.

He sighed heavily and asked, "How is he?"

Yegor didn't say anything, they both knew Harry was well aware of his father's current state.

The Tsar had fallen ill two months ago and his health had only gotten worse. There was no sign of a cure or betterment. He didn't have much time left.  
Harry would have to start planning his coronation very soon.

Harry Styles, the English prince, the Tsar of Russia. It sounded wrong.

As if he had heard Harry's thoughts about planning the coronation, Liam entered the room.

Liam Payne, Harry's advisor, helper and friend. Not much older than Harry, Liam was an important member of the royal court and politically very influential. His father was one of Tsar Vladimir's oldest friends, whose biggest dream was to watch their sons rule the kingdom side by side. Harry on the throne and Liam at his side, whispering the right things to do in his ear.A role neither of them wanted to play.

The day Harry had lost both his mother and his sister to an assassination staged by the Japanese government, Liam had been the one to sit on the other side of Harry's locked chamber door and talk to him. He had said how very sorry he was, and that he'd always be there for him. He had told him that even though he had lost two members of his family, he still had one brother, who would never leave him.

And he didn't.

He kept sitting on the cold stone floor of the palace hallway, until seven-year old Harry had opened the door and hugged him tightly. He had been the one to wipe away his tears and help him up on his feet.

Liam had always been there when Harry needed him, and he would continue to do so, until the day he died.

He had promised that, and when Liam Payne promised something, he kept that promise.

"Hey, can I talk to you for a second?" he asked now. Harry didn't want to talk, because he knew exactly what they would talk _about_. But he didn't want to. He didn't want to discuss his father's certain death and all the responsibilities Harry had as the Tsar of Russia.

But still, he sighed and nodded. He gave Yegor a signal that he was free to go and watched as he left the room.

Both of them were silent for a while, then Liam said: "He wants to see you. And we have to start planning your coronation. I'm sorry."

It wasn't fair. Harry hated the position he had been born into as the son of the Russian Tsar and his royal wife from Great Britain. Liam would have been a way better ruler that he could ever be.

Liam was born to make great decisions, to lead other people. Harry not so much.

"Yeah, sure," he finally said and looked at the black marble floor.

Sunlight was streaming through the great windows and painting golden squares on it. Harry closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling of the sun on his hair and skin. Summer was approaching and Harry couldn't wait. Moscow and its surroundings were warm in the summer, unlike the rest of the country.

As a young boy, he had once spend the autumn in the middle of Siberia and had never wanted to leave his bed in the morning. It had been so cold that even inside the thick castle walls, breath still came out of one's mouth as white smoke. Harry didn't want to know what it would be like in the winter, when even Moscow was a great snowy plain and the days so short you barely got to see a glimpse of daylight.

He opened his eyes again and saw Liam standing next to him, eyes closed and face stretched to the sun.

"I know you weren't expecting to become Tsar so soon. I know you thought you'd still have time, and I'm sorry you have to do this, but I want you to know that I'll be by your side throughout it all. I will kneel for you, I will be quiet when you want me to and I will tell you what to do when you don't know and I will tell you when you are being an awful ruler and someone needs to put you in your place. But I'm also your friend, and I know exactly you've never wanted this life and you don't want it now. So I say we keep going and push through it. Together. And now I need you to hold your head high, visit your father and then call a council meeting. Alright?"

Harry watched a few birds fly across the sky. He wondered where they were going. The icy cold of Siberia? To the south, where it was warm and sunny and you didn't have to cherish every single drop of sunlight and engrave the feeling of the warmth in your brain, because there was plenty of it?

Or maybe the west, with all its people and never-ending crops, where no one had to be scared to starve this winter, because their kingdom wasn't cursed with icy cold and earth that refused to let something grow in it.

Or the birds were actually sirins; half bird, half woman, like in the stories his mother had told him late at night when he couldn't sleep because of the howling wind outside the palace or a nightmare about the Baba Yaga with her iron teeth and red eyes.

He could feel Liam's waiting gaze on him.

"Alright."

***

The room was dark, merely lit by a small candle in the corner.

Harry could make out his father's figure underneath the thick blankets. The air inside was mouldy and stale. He felt like he couldn't breathe properly.

"Harry?" croaked his father in a voice that was unfamiliar to Harry.

He was used to his father speaking with a loud voice, that let everyone know who was in command. Only a few times had Harry heard his father speak in a low, almost soft tone. When he had talked to Harrys mother or told Harry and his sister about the old Russian legends, that spoke of death, betrayal, monsters and all-consuming love. Now that he thought about it, it seemed quite strange that his voice had been filled with so much compassion in those moments, while talking about the gruesome history of his kingdom.

The court healer quickly stepped aside to make space for Harry. He slowly sat down on the stool next to his father's bed, Liam following him.

"Hello, father." He swallowed hard. It was strange seeing his father so weak. He had always thought of him as indestructible, with his broad shoulders and thunderous laugh. His father had survived countless fights, had even one time been attacked by a bear, but had always escaped with nothing more than a scar.

Now he was pale and fragile, a coat of sweat covering his skin. The disease was eating him up from the inside and there was nothing anyone could do.

The Tsar attempted a little smile at his son, but was soon interrupted by a strong coughing fit. When his body became still again, Harry could see a few drops of blood on his lips. It was quiet for a moment, then Vladimir said "I haven't seen you for quite a while."

Harry kept his gaze on his entwined fingers in his lap, avoiding looking his father in the eyes. "I know, I'm sorry. It's just been pretty hectic around the palace lately. But I'm here now."

"That you are, my son."

They kept talking about meaningless things for a while, Harry informing his father about the most recent revelations in the country and the castle, until the doctor told Harry his father was now getting too tired and needed to rest.

Harry stood from his stool, trying to hide his relief. As much as he hated himself for it, he couldn't stand looking at his father and knowing that he would soon be gone, taking Harrys freedom with him. Although he had never had much of that anyway.

After closing the door to his father's chambers, he turned to the doctor, looking at him expectantly. It was Liam who posed the question though, as always knowing exactly what Harry was thinking. "How long?"

"I don't know exactly. It's impossible to tell. Maybe a couple of days, maybe a few weeks. I have never seen such a disease and I can't make out its source, but I know it's not one that will just go away without treatment or a cure. And I'm very sorry to tell you this, your majesty, but we are far from having a cure."

Harry nodded slowly. He had already figured that much. It wasn't a shock to hear. Liam thanked the doctor and took Harry by the arm, leading him around the corner.

"Harry, you know what this means. Assemble the council. We need to organize your coronation."

"I will. But I just- I need to do something first."

Liam smiled. "I know. But just hurry, okay?"

Of course he knew.

Liam knew exactly who Harry needed to see when it was all getting too much.

He hooked his arm around Harrys neck and tousled his brown curls. Harry couldn't help but laugh.

"Let me bring you there at least, an upcoming Tsar can't be wandering the palace grounds without any protection."

"I actually think the son of the current Tsar's advisor can't be wandering the palace grounds without any protection, which I'm happy to supply. He is such a weak and slim child after all."

Liam just pretended to wrestle him and then let the muscles under his shirt play.

Harry rolled his eyes exaggeratedly and followed Liam down the hall.

***

The Kremlin in the heart of Moscow was a fortified complex overlooking the Moskva river to the south, the red square to the east and the Alexander garden to the west. Within the high walls were five palaces, four cathedrals and the residence of the royal family, the grand Kremlin palace.

Everything was brightly colored, the golden rooftops of the high towers stretching into the grey Russian sky. The walls guarding the complex from the rest of the city were a bright red color, but the actual palace walls were of a warm yellow, with golden domes atop the towers.

Liam and Harry left the main palace and walked across the white gravel, passing artistically formed bushes and bright fountains.

Liam told Harry about the yield that had been especially bad this year, only a third of their usual harvest. The only part of Russia that could be used for agriculture was the granary, where mainly maize, sugar beets and sunflowers were grown.

 _Sunflowers._ So many sunflowers.

Huge yellow fields, shining brighter than the actual sun, smelling of sweet honey.

Harry could clearly remember that day among the tall flowers, sunlight warm on skin, his childish laughter even brighter than the yellow plants around him.

Blue eyes in front of a sky the same colour…

"Harry? Are you even listening to me?"

Harry quickly brought his thoughts back to Liam and the palace gardens, far away from that sunflower field so many years ago.

"Yes, of course," he lied.

Liam knew, of course. "I was just saying that we'll have to double the efforts in the mines this year. We have to outweigh the losses we have made with the bad harvest."

Harry nodded. "Okay, sounds reasonable."

Liam sighed. "We're here. Maybe you'll talk to him, given that you don't want to tell me what's going on with you."

They were standing at the foot of one of the towers on the palace grounds, but this one wasn't as high or as bright as the others were.

The paint had faded, leaving the walls a dirty grey, occasional pieces of the former bright green color still scattered along the stone. It was airy, resembling a needle that poked the clouds in the sky. It was Harry's favorite of all the towers in the Kremlin. It didn't have an official name like all the other ones, but Harry always called it Svistok, the pipe, because of its inhabitant.

"Nothing is going on with me. It's just… a lot. I never wanted this, and somehow I always thought that being the regent was so far in the future, it always seemed so distant that I just wasn't prepared when it suddenly wasn't just a thing anymore everyone kept telling me about, but something real that was here now to get me." He sighed heavily and turned his gaze to the grass beneath his boots. "I don't know… I'm just not any good at it."

Liam slightly bent forward, forcing Harry to look him in the eyes.

"Hey, that's not true. You' re kind and caring and smart. If someone can rule this beast of a kingdom, it's you. The people will love you, because how can they not? You are Harry Edward Styles. Everyone loves you. And I'll be there, guiding you through all of it. Okay?"

Harry couldn't help but smile. When life got hard, Liam was always there, knowing exactly what to say to make you feel better.

"Okay," he mumbled.

"That a boy," Liam laughed.

"Now get up there and get everything off your mind you can't get off with me. I'll be back in an hour and then we'll have that council meeting, so you have something to look forward to." He flashed Harry a bright grin, who only groaned in view of the upcoming council meeting.

"I can't wait," he gritted between clenched teeth.

Liam gave him a wink, slapped Harry's bum and then turned around, heading back to the main palace. Harry opened the heavy door to the inside of the tower and started his ascend up the stairs to the top.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry visits an old friend.

 

Harry entered the room at the top of the tower. 

The windows were wide open, a faint breeze blowing in the room, billowing even the heavy red curtains. 

Thick, heavy rugs covered the entire floor, embroidered with scenes from old myths and legends; battles, witches, birds or just the snowy Siberian landscape stretching underneath Harrys feet.  
The walls were engirded by book shelves, books almost springing out of them. 

In the center of the rounded room was a rocking chair, softly creaking as the man sitting in it slowly rocked back and forth. Smoke from his long brown pipe rose above his head, forming grey patterns in the cool air. 

"I knew you'd come today."

Harry didn't know how the man was aware of his presence, since the rugs had swallowed the sounds of his steps and he hadn't yet said a word. But it didn't surprise him. 

Volodya could always sense his presence, reading his mind like Liam did, but in different ways. Maybe Harry was just an open book, inviting everyone to see his deepest thoughts and feelings. 

Another trait that proved he wasn't made out to be a ruler.  
Rulers had to be like steel, unreadable and unrelenting. A mystery, yet still admirable.

"How'd you know?" he asked, walking up to the old man. 

"The wind whispered to me. And I can hear what the people in Kremlin are saying. There's a lot of talk about Vlad and the crown that will rest on someone else's head soon. I figured you'd come soon."

Harry saw that there was already an empty armchair next to Volodyas. Grateful, he let himself fall in, welcoming the familiar silk and soft cushions. 

He looked at Volodya, whose gaze was still fixed on the gardens outside, with eyes that couldn't see the beauty of it. 

Volodya took another drag of his pipe, blowing the smoke in the air. His mouse-grey hair was disheveled, the washed-out grey of his unseeing eyes piercing and wise. 

"Do you want to tell me what's going on inside that head of yours, that is slowly nearing its spot under the heavy golden crown?"  


"It doesn't feel like a crown. It feels like a mesh, slowly being fastened around my throat. Or a hatchet, on its way down," Harry replied bitterly.  


"One and the same thing," Volodya only said, face unmoving.  


Harry smirked. "That's true."

The old man had apparently heard the smile in his voice, because he softly chuckled as well, crow's feet appearing at the corners of his eyes.  
"Good thing I managed to escape that one."

Volodya was his grandfather's younger brother, never bearing the fate that was the imperial crown of the Russia. He had gone blind at the age of only seven years, no doctor in the entire empire having the ability to cure him of the blackness behind his eyelids, though Volodya always said there was no blackness, but soft, swirling colours in his mind.  
He lived in this tower, hardly ever leaving it.

When Harry was four years old, him and Liam had escaped the eyes of their overseers and run through the gardens, making up games and pretending to be someone else. Well, Harry had, at least. Liam had watched him, always concerned that their overseers would find them, and asking if they shouldn't just return. 

"Then you have to catch me first!" Harry had yelled, and started running, childishly giggling. He had practically _felt_ Liam rolling his eyes behind his back, but he didn't mind. Liam was always rolling his eyes. He was already six after all and so much more mature than Harry was or ever wanted to be. 

But soon Liam had given in and started chasing after him, laughter escaping his mouth. Harry knew that Liam secretly liked playing games with him, even though he would never admit to it. 

__

He chased Harry through the gardens, Harry knowing he would never be able to outrun Liam, who was so much faster and taller than him. 

He hid behind a white and gold fountain, Liam unknowingly running past it. Harry had giggled into his hands, trying not to make a sound so Liam wouldn't turn around and find him after all, proud of having been so clever. 

But after a while, when his legs had started hurting from crouching behind the fountain, the waiting had become rather boring and Liam still hadn't returned, he decided to leave his hiding spot. 

It was in that moment that his eyes had fallen on the building next to him. It was a tower, one that Harry had never seen or inquired as he had done with all the other buildings in the Kremlin. 

He decided that Liam could keep looking for him and had then curiously opened the heavy door and walked up the stairs. When he had entered the large room at the top of the tower, he had only been capable of looking around, eyes big and mouth wide open in surprise and amazement, not noticing the man that was sitting in his chair, smoking a pipe and watching him. 

He had expected the top of the tower to be abandoned and shabby as the towers demeanor suggested. But this room was anything but shabby. Sure, it didn't have any of the luxury of the rest Kremlin and the palace. But it had something strangely beautiful about it, with the heavy rugs that had entire worlds stitched into them and the books lining the walls that didn't look anything like the neatly placed books of the palace library, but were used, and messily rested in their shelves. They looked read and loved and inviting, nothing like the books Harry was used to, that looked like duties and studying. 

Harry was slowly spinning around, taking in the entire room, not knowing where to look first, when suddenly-  
"You should close your mouth before a fly flies in." 

Harry had whirled around, nearly jumping with shock. His eyes had fallen on the old man in a rocking chair, whose strange milky eyes were staring at Harry.  
"I'm sorry… I didn't mean to intrude…" he stammered. Who was this man? 

"And who may you be?" the old man had only asked. 

"My name is Harry." 

"Ah, the little prince. I figured you'd come around one day." 

"How'd you figure?" Harry had asked curiously, slowly walking towards the stranger. 

"I knew you wouldn't leave your great-uncle alone to rot in his tower." 

"You're my uncle?" Harry was shocked that he'd never known that there was another member of the royal family, that no one had ever mentioned it. 

"Your great uncle," corrected the old man. 

"You shouldn't call yourself great. That's impolite," Harry had giggled. 

The man had smiled. "You are a very smart boy Harry. And completely right. But in my case it is true. I'm very great. Amazing, actually."  
Harry had giggled a bit more. "Why do you live here? In this tower I mean… Couldn't you live in the palace with us?" 

"Because I like it here. Towers are a great thing, you know? The further you're up, the more you can see and the more you know. Of course, that it not always true, as with so many things in life. Some men see less and less the further they are up, because they forget what it's like on the ground. I don't think you are one of those men, Harry, I think you are like me. You can handle great heights." 

Harry didn't know what he meant back then, so he just naively asked: "But you can't see anything, can you? I don't think you can, because your eyes aren't like normal eyes." 

"You just proved further to me what a smart boy you are, as you are right, I can indeed not see you or this room right know. But smart men don't need eyes to see." 

Suddenly a thought had struck Harry. "But how did you know that my mouth was open in surprise when I came here?" 

"I just thought so. It is a very impressive room after all, isn't it?" 

Harry had nodded in agreement, but then noticed that the man couldn't see the movement, so he quickly said: "I nodded just then."  
The old man chuckled softly. "I figured that as well." 

Suddenly Harry was struck by the thought that he hadn't asked the man for his name, so he did. 

"Volodya," the old man answered his question. "It means Ruler of the world which is curious, since that is exactly what I'm not, but my brother was, and your father is, and you will be one day." 

"Not ruler of the world, only Russia," Harry corrected him. 

"Russia is as big as the entire world boy." Harry was pretty sure that wasn't true, but he didn't question it any further. 

"Do you know what Harry means?" Volodya asked. 

Harry shook his head. "No. It's an English name, because mother is from the United Kingdom in the west." 

"Well, lucky that I know. Harry means 'ruler of home'. That's very fitting isn't it?" 

"Yeah, maybe," Harry had said quietly. "But my brother was actually supposed to become Tsar, but he died when he was just two years old." Harry looked at the rugs under his feet. 

"I'm very sorry to hear that Harry. Fate and destiny have their own strange ways." 

Harry's brother had gotten a cold, such an innocent disease, but fatal for such a small baby. Of course Harry couldn't remember anything about his brother, since he had just been a toddler when he had died, but his sister, Gemma, remembered him. She had told Harry that both of them had been sick, but Harry was the one to survive, while his brother had died in his crib, Harry peacefully sleeping next to him. It was a miracle really, that Harry had survived, even though he had only been six months old and a very slim child, but his brother, who had been extraordinary healthy up to that point, hadn't. 

It had been quiet for a moment, before Harry asked: "Why do you have so many books, even though you can't read them?" 

Volodya had taken a long drag of his pipe. "Sometimes books don't need to be read, but just be present. But I have read them. In my own ways. Would you like to read one out loud to me?" 

"I can't read yet. Not very good at least… My tutor Wasilia always says she gets grey hair from just listening to my endless stuttering." 

"Well, my hair is grey already, so I don't have anything to lose, do I? Pick a book, whichever one you'd like." 

Harry walked up to one of the bookshelves and looked up. He couldn't reach any of the higher books, so he'd just grabbed one with a pretty blue and gold spine that looked promising to him. Because something so beautiful couldn't be boring now, could it? 

And it really wasn't. The book contained the oldest myths and legends there were, so old and unknown, not even Harry's father or tutors had known about them. 

Harry read aloud in broken sentences at first, but as time went on, he had gotten more confident, words coming out more coherently and his voice growing firmer. Or as firm as his four-year-old voice could get, that was. Volodya had just listened, taking drags of his pipe now and then, blowing the smoke into the air. From time to time he had corrected Harry at a mispronounced word or helped him when he couldn't read one. ("Describe it to me. What does the word look like?"). 

Harry had gotten completely lost in the tales about Russian woods and their monsters, that he hadn't noticed the sun slowly setting, shadows stretching across the floor. It was only when he had heard someone yell his name in the distance, that he had quickly set down the book. "I should go now. Everyone is probably already looking for me." 

Volodya had nodded, a quiet smile on his wrinkled face. "Thank you for reading to me Harry, it was nice hearing someone's voice." 

Harry had grinned broadly. "No problem. Could I maybe come again sometime?" 

"Of course you can. It would be my pleasure Harry." 

Harry had flashed one last grin to the old man, before turning around and quickly hurrying down the steps. When he had reached the foot of the tower, Liam was already running towards him, anger and concern written on his face. 

"Where were you?" he cried, once he saw Harry. "I've been looking everywhere for you. I had to tell Wasilia that I lost you and she told your parents, who sent out an entire searching party for you. They thought you had been kidnapped! Where the bloody hell were you!?" 

Harry had guiltily stared at his feet, fighting back tears. He hadn't wanted anyone to be concerned about him and now everyone would surely hate him for being such an ignorant and selfish child. When Liam saw that Harry was biting back tears he had sighed heavily and his face had softened. 

"I'm sorry. I shouldn't have been so mean to you, but you were just gone and if something had happened to you, it all would have been my fault and -"  
He stopped and tightly hugged Harry. "I'm really glad nothing happened to you Harry. I don't know what I would have done without you and your stupid games."  


"They aren't stupid!" Harry had protested, but Liam had simply laughed and hugged him tighter. 

Liam had gotten into a lot of trouble that night, being scolded by his parents and practically the entire court, for not looking after the crown prince properly. 

That night, Harry had snuck into Liam's room and curled up next to him in his bed, apologizing for running away and telling him about the strange man he had met atop the tower and the stories he had read to him and if he wouldn't like to come along next time so he could see those beautiful rugs with pictures in them for himself. 

And Harry had gone back there many times after that, Volodya telling story after story, one stranger than the next, and Harry reading book after book to him, devouring every single word written in them. 

Volodya had also been the one to take him to that sunflower farm a few years later, just before he'd lost his mother and sister, telling him that every tsar should see those sunflower fields at least once in their life, otherwise they couldn't appreciate the beauty of their kingdom enough and also that every child, prince or not, should at least once in their life play with other kids in a field bathed in sunlight. And so, he did. 

He did, and it was the most beautiful moment of his life, still engraved in his brain all these years later.  
Still that loud laughter and those cornflower blue eyes. Always those blue eyes. 

"What are you thinking about?" Volodya asked now, returning Harry to the present. 

"The first time we met. And the time you took me to that sunflower farm. Do you still remember that?" 

"Of course I do. I might be old, but no matter how old I get I will never forget that day. I've never seen you happier. Not to brag, but it was a very brilliant idea of me, wasn't it?" 

"It was. But you technically didn't see me being so happy." 

"I heard your laughter. That was enough." 

Harrys eyes fell on one of the rugs on the floor. It was a picture of an old man, who was flying above the green grassland and woods of Russia, diamonds falling from a satchel in his hands to the ground. It was so familiar. It had also been in the same spot when he had been in here for the first time and hadn't changed. Nothing had changed. It was as if the time in this tower stood still and Harry was the only thing that ever changed in here. 

"Tell me the story," Volodya suddenly demanded. 

"Of what?" 

"Of that rug you're looking at just now." Harry didn't even bother asking how he'd known, it was useless anyway.

"But you know that story. Everyone knows that story. It's the first one I ever remember being told as a child, much like all the other children in Russia." 

"Of course I know that story. I know every story, but I still want to hear it." 

Harry looked at Volodya. Maybe he had been wrong before and he wasn't the only thing that ever changed inside the walls of this tower. Now that he took a closer look, he could see that time had certainly taken its toll on his great-uncle as well. The grey in his hair had somehow faded even further and his skin was covered with age spots. 

Harry cleared his throat and started telling the story every Russian child was brought to bed with, putting them to sleep and that he knew better than his own pockets. 

"After god created the world, he was flying with his gifts around it to spread them everywhere. But when he came to Siberia, his hands were freezing so much that he dropped everything he was still carrying with him, and so Siberia became rich with gems, gold, diamonds and other materials that were scattered throughout it. Enraged about this, god cursed the area with frozen ground, marsh, moor, impenetrable forests, eternal winter and bitter cold." 

Volodya had closed his eyes, listening intently to the story. 

"That one never gets old. It's a very important story." 

"Yeah, maybe." 

"Those diamonds and gems are a blessing to this kingdom as much as they are a curse. Quite similar to its crown." 

"More of a curse, I'd say." 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys, it's me! 
> 
> I just wanted to tell you which songs inspired this chapter and I listened to while writing, I'll always mention them in the notes of each chapter.
> 
> Volodyas song is "Morning dew" by Robert Plant and him and Harrys talk is "Death with Dignity" by Sufjan Stevens (it's such a beautiful song)
> 
> Thanks again so much for reading :)


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry is saved.

 

The council meeting took place around a large table next to the throne room, as it always did. But one thing was significantly different this time. 

Harry wasn't sitting on one of the normal chairs as usual, but on the enormous chair at the head of the table where his father had been sitting for as long as Harry could remember. It was the Tsars seat. 

Harry felt as if he didn't fill the space on the chair enough. As if he drowned in it, rather than dominate it. 

He knew it was a ridiculous thought to have, but he felt as if he didn't belong there, like he was a debris in a stranger's body. And this chair was nothing in comparison to the daunting silver sparkling throne next door. 

He sighed heavily and forced himself to return his attention to the scene before him, where the members of the council were currently having a passionate discussion on whether the front doors of the Kremlin should be painted mint-green. 

Abram Grekov was yelling at Kostya Yurenev that this would be a cultural crime and delinquency to the entire Russian population, his head as red as a tomato, spit flying out of his mouth and covering Kostyas face and coat in it. 

God, Harry hated these meetings. 

Liam, who was sitting to Harrys right, had apparently also come to the conclusion that this argument was useless and loudly cleared his throat. He was obviously completely aware of his father's observing looks, that were just waiting for his son to make a mistake so he could bluster him for it later on. 

His father's appreciation and accolade were the most important things to Liam, probably because he had only rarely been granted them as a child. And the most important things to his father were this kingdom, his position and his reputation. 

He was only disinterestedly watching the discussion unfold, eyes slightly narrowed, like a snake observing its prey. 

"Maybe we should move on to the next item on the agenda, the bad harvest this year," Liam said loudly, predominating the clamour of the men around the table. 

The fighting men immediately stopped their yelling and relapsed in their seats again, which they had left in the heat of the debate. They still sneered at each other from across the table though, disdain clearly visible on their red faces. 

Some of them had lit themselves long pipes, the smoke making the room suffocating and muggy, not at all like the light, calming smell of Volodyas pipe, that somehow smelled like freedom. This smoke felt like it was surrounding, caging you. 

"As you all already know, the harvest has been especially bad this year. In the last years it was already below our hopes, but it just keeps declining. It is slowly becoming a major problem. Entire families are starving and we don't have enough of anything to give to them. Unless they can eat sunflowers, nearly a third of our population will starve this winter.  
So, our only solution is to intensify the trade with Europe. That means we need those resources. We need almost double the diamonds and gems from Siberia than in the last years. And for that, we need more workers there."

The men at the table were just staring at Liam, bored looks on their faces and taking drags of their pipes. It seemed as though they hadn't even been listening, which, to be fair, Harry couldn't blame them for.  
He had also found it hard to stay awake during their earlier conversation. 

"So?" barked Abram. "Get more men to Nobirsk to the mines! Problem solved!" 

Harry knew Liam was trying his best not to roll his eyes or snap at the other men, from the way his hands were tightly clutching the fabric of his trousers, knuckles white. 

"And how exactly are we supposed to do that? The wages are already as high as we can make them, and still only few men would voluntarily work in those mines and I can't blame them for it. From what I've heard it's miserable up there."

"You just said the crucial word," Liam's father suddenly horned in the conversation. "Voluntary. That's exactly the problem. They don't have to do it, so they won't do it, no matter how much money you offer them. Make the work there compulsive and we don't have to worry about lacking resources ever again. This beautiful empire with all its gold will do the rest."

"But father-" Liam started to protest, but immediately thought better than to object to him. Instead he turned to Harry, giving him a questioning look.

"What do you say, Harry?" he asked quietly, the whole room falling silent and looking at him expectantly. 

"I-" Harry didn't know what to say. 

He tried to think of what his father would have done, but he already knew the answer to that question. 

"It is our only choice. And the right one at that," Liam's father said quietly, like a snake hissing through its long teeth. 

Harry looked to Liam helplessly, who gave him a slight nod, eyes sad but determined. Harry knew what the right choice was. What a Tsar's choice would be. 

"Alright," he said quietly, eyes fixed on the black ebony of the table before him. 

It was as if the entire room had held their breath and were now losing it all at the same time, jollily laughing and chatting, congratulating each other on this fabulous idea as if it had been theirs. 

Harry swallowed.  
He hated this. 

Hated all of it.

"Right, up to our next point," Liam started again. 

Harrys readjusted in his seat. He couldn't do this much longer, couldn't sit around and decide about other people's lives and fates in a matter of minutes, not knowing what it would do to them. What they thought. 

"So, since the arabic nobility is arriving tomorrow-" Liam started. 

Harrys head snapped around. He'd forgotten. 

How could he have forgotten the visit of the gentry family from the orient when it was literally the only thing the entire court was talking about? 

Skivvies were quietly giggling in the halls, telling each other about the foreign prince, whose infamous beauty countless poems had already inspired countless of poems, and the servants were telling each other rumours about the land in the south, were the sun was infinitely shining, flowers in all shades of the rainbow were growing, and there was every fruit imaginable, tasting mellow and rich. 

A land of pleasure and passion, of beauty and feline grace. 

And they would come here. Tomorrow. 

The Emir with his wife and children. To talk about trade and politics, to attend the coronation and unify their countries bond. And to introduce Harry to his daughters.

It had been in talks for quite a while now. For Harry to marry one of the Emirs daughters and strengthen the political bond. It was a very likely possibility. 

He quietly groaned and suddenly felt the burning desire to strongly bang his head against the heavy table. Maybe then he'd get a concussion, or even better, lose consciousness, so he didn't have to endure this meeting a minute longer. 

He did no such thing, but instead forced his features into looking calm, as if this information wasn't news to him. 

"They will be here for the coronation and a yet undecided amount of time after that. Of course we will arrange a celebration in their honour and the coronation. And to show them the old Russian traditions of course. They should be here by tomorrow at midday." 

Liam had been complaining about their visit for months now, since he was the one who had been assigned the task to care for them. He had ranted for hours about how unfair it was that he was burdened with this duty, only because his father had said so.  
It was a dull task, to prepare everything to their guests' satisfaction, one that needed lots of planning and more pondering than one may expect from a simple visit. 

At some point, Harry had just stopped listening to Liam's whining.  
He cared as much about table dressings and the colour of their guests' bedsheets as Liam did. 

"And of course the ball would be a great opportunity to introduce Harry to possible future wives. We will invite several possible candidates, so Harry has enough options. I don't think the wedding can take place before the coronation though, since it is all very last minute, but surely soon after," Liam went on. 

It was tradition, that. The new Tsar always had their spouse by their side during the ritual, shortly touching their head with the crown before placing it on their own.  
Harry would have to be an exception in that matter as well, as he was in so many things.

Just the thought of the upcoming ball made his innards churn. 

He used to love the festivities at court, when he was a little boy and him and Liam were running around the giant room, ducking underneath the guest's arms, bolting across the dancefloor, ignoring the angry looks people threw at them, and secretly putting potato skin into the guests' wineglasses when they weren't looking, then quickly hiding behind one of the pillars and giggling about the look on their faces when they accidentally swallowed it. 

Even Liam had had fun during those nights, at first hesitant and seemingly annoyed at Harrys childishness, but then slowly giving in, until he was as mischievous as Harry, for once not caring about his father's disapproving looks and just having fun with his friend.

He always gave in eventually. Every single time. 

No one could resist Harry and the sparkle in his big green eyes for long, especially not Liam. 

As they had gotten older, the way they spend those nights had changed, but weren't any less fun. 

They had started drinking the wine themselves, instead of putting stuff in it (Harry still put sugar beets in Liam's cup a few times though) and they had started participating on the dance floor, rather than annoy the people on it. 

They had drunk and danced and laughed and drunk some more, until the sun started to rise again and they had taken their company to Harrys rooms, where they fell asleep and woke again hours later, head feeling like it was made of lead and every sound ten times as loud as usual. 

But they had loved it.  
Had loved every second of it; devoured those countless nights with nothing to worry about but which of the beautiful guests to charm and woo next. 

Now Harry would be expected to welcome his guests, to talk to possible bride-to-be's and charm their political allies and enemies.  
The thought nearly made him sick. 

Maybe he should act on the banging-head-on-table-and-losing-consciousness-idea from earlier after all. 

"Okay, that brings me to the next item on our agenda: the coronation," Liam continued, unaware of the torture Harry was enduring next to him.

But suddenly help came in a very different form than Harry had imagined, saving him from the table-method Harry was seriously considering now. 

It came in the shape of a giant bouquet of flowers.

"So, we have already talked about the colour of the horses that will pull the carriage to the palace, now we must discuss the urgent matter of the guest list.  
I have already taken the time to render a raw version of the list-" 

In that moment, Liam was interrupted by the giant door to the council room, which flew open with great force, rattling the vases that were standing on small tables around the room and almost knocking a painting of one of Harrys ancestors off the wall with the heavy impact. 

The entire council slowly turned around as one, staring sourly at the intruder. 

They had even stopped taking constant drags of their pipes, mouths falling open in shock. In the doorframe was a giant bouquet of flowers, seemingly levitating above the ground, two skinny legs clad in black trousers the only sign of their carrier. 

Well, those and the voice that had now started wildly cursing behind it. 

"Holy fucking fuck!" It yelled. 

The council members slowly started leaning forward, pipes hanging from their open mouths, eyes narrowed in suspicion. 

Suddenly a head poked from behind the colourful flowers and the council members all recoiled, leaning back in their seats at once. 

The boys' head was as red as the petals of a poppy next to his ear. Harry didn't know if it was of embarrassment or of exhaustion from carrying what seemed to be a rather heavy bouquet.  
A large grin spread across the boy's face, making Harry believe it was the latter. 

"I'm very sorry," he grinned. "Am I interrupting something?"

The council members were just gawking at him in utter shock, unable to fathom how someone could have the impudence of interrupting a council meeting with the crown prince of Russia,  
and still innocently smile as if they'd interjected a casual friend's get-together and not an obviously very important political gathering. 

Harry bit back a grin. This was the best interruption he could have hoped for.

But there was something about the boy he couldn't quite put his finger on. Something familiar, or at least vaguely familiar… 

And then it hit him.

His thoughts raced back to that field so many years ago. Two boys running around with him, asking him if he wanted to play a game.  
That loud laugh and those bright blue eyes. 

Niall.

That had been his name. He could still remember the other boy telling him. 

_"My name is Niall. What's yours?"_

_"I'm Harry."_

_"Harry is a strange name. Why are you called Harry?"_

_"I don't know. My parents liked it, I suppose. It's not as strange as the name Niall."_

_"…Yeah, maybe. But your name is the strangest Louis. Louis is maybe the strangest name in the entire world."_

_"That's not true. It's French."_

_"See? Told you. Strangest name in the entire world. Did you know the French eat frogs and slugs?"_

_"Did you know that I hate you and that I'm going to punch you if you don't shut up?"_

_"Did you know that you have to catch me first for that?"_

He was here. Now. 

Niall. Niall and Louis. That had been their names. 

"I'm here to deliver the flowers that someone ordered. But apparently this is not the right door. The lady said through the hall and then left.  
Maybe she meant right… By the way, are the flowers for the arrival of the Emir and his family that the entire city is talking about?  
They are supposed to arrive tomorrow, aren't they?" the boy kept on babbling. 

It seemed as if he'd never stop talking; he was like a living waterfall of words, that just kept streaming out of him, accompanied by that big toothy grin. 

It was uncertain how long he would have chattered on for, if Liam's father hadn't interrupted him with a harsh "The room you're looking for is on the right side of the hallway", maybe forever. 

Niall immediately stopped in the middle of his sentence and thanked him. 

He turned around to leave the room, slightly groaning because of the heavy weight in his arms, but Harry knew he'd have to talk to him, see if Niall also remembered him.  
Probably not. 

For them, it had just been another day like all the others, nothing new about it but that strange boy who didn't know any of the games they had thought to be the basic knowledge of any child, and who had asked for some caviar at supper, at which the whole family had just stared at him as if he'd grown a third head. 

No, he probably didn't remember him, but still. He needed to know for sure. 

He had always begged Volodya to go back there, so he could see his newly found friends again, but then his mother and sister had died and Volodya had stopped leaving his tower altogether, saying he was too old now. So he had never returned. 

As he had promised he would. 

When Niall turned to leave, apologizing once more, he abruptly stood up, the legs of his heavy chair screeching across the black marble floor. 

"I'm sorry, I have to go. If you'll excuse me, I'm sure you don't need my input in this surely extremely vital matter of obviously great importance, but I … I just have to go now."

"But-" someone protested behind him, but Harry just quickly left the room with long steps, avoiding looking anyone in the eye, especially Liam, and shut the door behind him. 

Niall was standing in front of the door on the other side of the broad corridor, about to open it and obviously struggling to do so with the flowers in his arms.

"Here, let me help you," Harry quickly offered and opened it for him.

"Thanks mate," Niall smiled, strutting through the door Harry held open for him. "My name's Niall by the way. Niall Horan. What's yours? And what were you doing in there?  
Was that the council? Did I really just walk into a council meeting?"

Harry assembled all his courage and took a deep breath. He didn't know why this was so difficult for him, why he was so nervous and cared so much that Niall remembered.  
But that day had been so special to him, so unique and significant, that he just really hoped it had been for them too. 

"I don't know if you remember me, but we've already met once.", he finally burst out. 

"Oh, really?" Niall's surprised voice came from behind the bouquet, the sound muffled by the flowers. "When?"

"I … it was pretty long ago, you probably don't remember, but -"

"Hold on. Maybe if I could see you, I'd remember." He carefully turned his body so the flowers didn't block his view anymore, and looked at Harry. 

A few flower petals had been gotten caught between his lips and he spat them out, batting them away with one hand, the other clutching onto the pot.  
He stared at Harry for a few seconds, eyes narrowing and brows furrowing. 

"I'm sorry, what was your name again?"

"Harry," Harry quickly said.

"I'm sorry, doesn't ring a bell at the moment…"

"I visited your family's farm when we were kids with my grandfather. We played catch on your sunflower fields and I helped you plow the harvest that day."

Niall's frown deepened even further. He tilted his head slightly to the side, blonde hair becoming one with the daffodils next to it. Apparently, he still couldn't remember him.

Harry sighed. One last attempt. "I fell into a river and nearly drowned."

Niall's eyes suddenly lit up. "Harry! Of course I remember! How could I forget that? I didn't know you were a member of the nobility though.  
I thought you were just visiting your grandfather in Moscow."

Niall had freed one of his hands from the pot to firmly shake Harrys hand. Without Niall's grip the bouquet was now dangerously tilting to its side. 

When Niall noticed Harrys anxious look to the flowers, he quickly let his hand go and finally heaved the pot onto a nearby commode.  
Slowly, his face started turning a normal colour again, slightly tanned, rather than tomatoe-red. 

Harry contemplated how he could gently tell Niall that he had housed not only a member of the court nobility, but the future Tsar of Russia on his farm. 

"You know, actually…," he started, but then decided to just get it over with and if Niall wanted to run away and never speak to him again, then so be it. 

"My father is the tsar of Russia," he blurted out in one breath. _Smooth Harry, really smooth._

Niall twirled around, staring at Harry with wide blue eyes. He didn't say anything for a second, Harry anxiously awaiting his reaction. 

Then, suddenly, he burst into laughter. 

He laughed so hard that he had to bend forward, hands resting on his thighs and tears were streaming down his glowing cheeks.  
Harry didn't know what to do, so he just awkwardly stood there, watching the other boy hysterically giggle. 

When Niall looked at Harry again, his laughing fit slowly ebbed off, realization dawning on his face. 

"Oh, wow. You're really serious, aren't you? Okay, wow… that's… wow." So it was possible to make Niall Horan speechless.  
Apparently, miracles did exist after all, Harry thought. 

But it didn't take long for Niall to collect himself again, clear his throat, and say: "So you will be ruler soon? I heard about the Tsa- … your fathers illness. I'm sorry, by the way. That must suck."

"Yeah, it is rather … unfortunate."

There was an awkward silence for a few seconds, then Niall said: "Yeah, my parents died a few years ago. It was horrible…Wow, I really had no idea."  
He disbelievingly shook his head. 

The news about Niall's parents felt like a sudden punch in the stomach. They had been so kind to Harry, so loving, as if he'd been their own son, even though they'd only met him for a few hours. His mother had cooked for them and his father had taught them how to nick little figures from a piece of wood and they'd both laughed as loud as and bright as Niall did. 

That was what Harry remembered most clearly about them. That loud, bright laughter. 

He felt like something was sitting in his throat.  
"How … how did they…?" he murmured.

"Oh." Niall's eyes slightly widened. "We made really bad harvest one year and no one bought our flowers, so my father had to work in the mines for one winter, so we wouldn't, you know… starve, but it's really hard work up there, you know? And his health already wasn't the best, so he died, because of the filth and dust, you know? Collected in his lungs, apparently." 

Harry felt a pang of guilt in his chest at those words. 

"Well, my mother died soon after that. She just wasn't happy anymore, you know?" Niall continued. "Never smiled or laughed anymore. So Lou - Louis and I, we took matters into our own hands and revived the business. And now I'm here," he said, spreading his arms slightly. 

Harry attempted a smile, but failed. "I'm sorry," he croaked.

"Nothing to be sorry about. You couldn't have done anything against it now, could you?" Niall said, smiling again.  
Harry didn't know if that was true, but he didn't say anything.

"Sorry again for interrupting your meeting."

"Oh, no problem. You did me a favour, actually. I was desperately hoping for an interruption."

"Oh, well, in that case, you're very welcome!"

"I should probably get back in there now, though," Harry sighed, already dreading the judging looks of the council members. 

"You don't have to, you know? You could come with me back to the farm, it's gonna be fun. I'm sure Lou will be happy to see you again, he kept talking about you the first few months after you were gone, always asking mother and father when you'd visit again. At least, that's what I recall." 

At that, Harrys heart made a small jump. He had asked about him.

He looked at Niall, ready to kindly reject his offer, but he really wanted to go. The thought of seeing the farm again, the sunflower fields ... and Louis. 

He wanted to see Louis again. 

"Come on, I know you want to," Niall said with a mischievous grin, softly nudging Harrys shoulder with his own. 

"Yeah, I'd love to," Harry finally said, beaming back at him. 

"Great. Let's go!" Niall said, already turning to leave. Harry didn't hesitate a second longer and followed him. 

As he left the room, he nearly bumped into Niall, who was standing frozen in the middle of the corridor, staring at the enormous golden doors at its far end. 

"Is that…," Niall whispered reverently. "The throne room?"

"Yeah… do you want to see it?" Harry offered. Niall stared at him, eyes as big as saucers.

"Really? You could do that? I mean… that would be awesome. I've heard so many things about the throne room, I've always wanted to see it." 

Harry smiled and walked up to the guards standing on either side of the corridor. They immediately opened the heavy doors for him and Harry entered the room, Niall hesitantly following him. 

Harry watched Niall's reaction, as his mouth fell open, eyes glowing and he slowly turned around in a circle, gaping at the large room. 

"It's so … golden," he said.

That was probably the best way to describe the throne room. Golden. 

It was long and fairly narrow, given its size. The floor marbles were of a warm gold the colour of molten butter, the ceiling was painted gold and white, huge golden chandeliers hanging off it. The three thrones at the far end of the room were also gold, a large yellow sun painted on the dark blue wall above them.

"I mean… this whole place is really glittery and shiny, even the lavatories … but this. It's like I'm standing inside the sun."

Harry quietly smiled. He knew that feeling all too well, but not from the citadel.

"That's exactly how I felt when I was standing in your sunflower fields as a child."

Niall turned around to him and smiled. He looked around the room again, as if he couldn't believe he was actually seeing this. 

"Lou will never believe me when I tell him about his. I always told him that one day I'd see the throne room and he'd say that it probably isn't even that great and then he'd try to describe it to me, so I would feel like I was there. He was pretty far off.  
In his version, the floor was completely red and the walls were covered in a mural of the Siberian mountains and the ceiling was painted so it resembled the night sky."

Harry softly smiled. 

"I like that version better," he said.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all again so much for reading! :)
> 
> Niall's song in this story is "Take it easy" by the Eagles and "Map of the World" by the Plain white T's. I think those songs really capture his character as I imagined him for this fanfic. 
> 
> This whole chapters song is "Watch me" by Labi Siffre.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry remembers.

On their way out of the palace Niall had to stop at every corner, admiring everything he saw.  
He touched the vases, asked Harry questions about the paintings on the walls, and sat down in every armchair they passed for at least three minutes each. 

Countless servants and maids were hustling through the corridors, all excitedly preparing the citadel for the Emir's arrival. 

When they finally reached the palace doors, Niall took one last look around and then told Harry he'd have to get his chariot really quick, in which he'd transported the flowers on his way here. 

When he returned, Harry was already waiting beside a carriage he'd called for to bring them to them to the farm.  
But after a few attempts of putting Niall's chariot into the carriage, they came to the conclusion that it was useless and instead decided to walk the distance.  
Harry didn't mind a walk, especially since it was a beautiful day, warm sunlight prickling his skin and making Niall's white-blond hair look golden. 

Harry knew that he wasn't allowed to leave the walls of the Kremlin without at least one guard by his side, but he didn't care. It wasn't like anyone would ever find out, now that his father was lying in his bed, not able to stand up on his own, let alone yell at Harry for wanting to be a normal boy for a day. Or a second day. 

When they stepped out onto the streets of the red square, Harry took a deep breath, enjoying the rare feeling of liberty and freedom. 

The colourful onion towers of the surrounding cathedrals were blazing in the sunlight, children were playing games on the ground, holding each other's hands and skipping in a circle, while their parents were selling their goods on carts nearby, loudly praising their tea, vodka, pork, fabrics and Matryoshkas. 

Harry smiled at the sight of it; the vibrating, lively activities of the city, such a strong contrast to the hushed, peaceful quiet of the palace (Well, if you discounted the servant's quarters).

The children were now loudly singing a song, still dancing around in a circle.

_Ring a ring o' roses_  
A pocket full of posies  
A-tishoo! A-tishoo!  
We all fall down. 

__

_Ting a ting o' tulips;_  
A handful of red tulips  
A-tishoo! A-tishoo!  
We all fall down. 

__

_Ding a ding o' daisy;_  
A bundle of white daisies  
A-tishoo! A-tishoo!  
We all fall down. 

__

_Fing a fing o' flowers_  
Pretty flowers under the tree  
We all jump  
1,2,3! 

__

Harry noticed that Niall had already started walking, pulling the big chariot behind him, and Harry quickly jogged to catch up with him. 

"I knew we'd have a guest today, by the way," Niall said.

"Really? How so?"

"Earlier this week, I accidentally dropped a knife on the ground," he replied, face dead-serious. 

Harry had to laugh. "Do you actually believe in those things?" he asked.

It was an old superstition that if a knife fell on the ground, you should expect a male guest later the same week, if it was a fork, a female one. 

"I know it's ridiculous, at least that's what Lou always says, but I just can't help it. And it's true. I mean, you are a male guest and I did drop a knife a few days ago. Surely, those can't be coincidences." 

Harry was now also noticing that Niall was carefully avoiding the small cracks in the ground, occasionally doing a little skip so he didn't step on one.  
Another superstition: stepping on a crack meant bad luck.  
"Sure, whatever you say," Harry smiled, joining Niall in the occasional skipping of cracks in the ground, dramatically jumping over them with a pirouette. 

They kept walking and walking; houses becoming smaller and the distances between them bigger, leaving the tall walls surrounding the city that gave way to huge wheat and sugar beet fields, stretching into what seemed like eternity. 

And Harry and Niall kept moving, sunlight on their skin, the quiet squeaking of the chariot Niall pulled behind him harmonizing with the chirping of birds and Niall's voice, that never stopped talking, telling Harry anecdotes, stories, random thoughts and … anything, really. 

Harry contently listened, laughing at Niall's jokes, only speaking himself a few times, answering Niall's weird questions about his life at court.  
(How many crowns do you own? Is the toilet paper in the palace made of silk? Is it true the Tsar has his own private collection of silver butterflies that he keeps in one large room? Questions like that.)

At some point Niall suggested one should sit in the chariot while the other pulled them, so Harry lowered himself in the chariot and Niall started pulling again, the squeaking louder now, until they switched positions and Harry was the one pulling Niall, who happily rested his feet on the wooden side of the chariot, arms crossed behind his head.

Niall was just telling Harry about a weird dream he'd had a couple of nights ago, in which he was flying on a raccoon across the sky and his late grandmother, who was sitting on a duck, was throwing Pirozhkis at him, when suddenly the farm house came into view. 

From where they were standing it was just a small speck in the distance, but as they walked further, or, to be exact, Harry walked further, pulling Niall in the chariot behind him, he could see more details. 

He remembered snatches about this place, mostly about the fields with its beautiful flowers, but also a few things about the cozy farmhouse, with its tiny kitchen and two bedrooms, one on either side of it.  
The farm was surrounded by meadows, nothing to be seen for miles but different shades of green and a small village in the distance. 

This time he was standing in front of it in broad daylight but the last time, the morning fog had still made everything look grey and the air had been cool. 

As they approached the tiny house further, the memories came flooding back, taking Harry back to that day so many years ago, when he'd first seen it…

***

_"Why won't you tell me where we're going?" Harry asked, climbing into the carriage his great-granduncle had ordered to the palace gates._

_"You will find out soon enough. But it's good that you're curious Harry. Everyone should be curious and ask questions. Never stop with that."_

_"But what's the use in asking questions when you don't get any answers? And why am I not allowed to tell mother and father about our trip?"_

_Volodya sighed, sitting down opposite Harry on the leather-seats of the carriage._

_"Harry, have you ever seen the world?"_

_Harry didn't know how to answer that. "Of course I have. Mother and father took me to Europe for a few months. We went to France, Germany, Spain, Italy and the United Kingdom. It was lovely there. Did you know that the ocean tastes salty? It's not anything like the water we have here."_

_Volodya gave Harry a little smile and knocked against the ceiling of the carriage, signaling the coachman to start. The carriage started moving with a soft jolt._

_"Yes, but have you ever seen the life? The life all the other people are living, the people on the ground? The ones who weren't born into wealth and nobility like you? No, you haven't. And how can you reign over people you don't know or understand?  
The answer is simple: You can't. Or, you can, but not any good, trust me. Your father never truly understood that and he wouldn't understand it now either and that's why we're not telling him. Not to say your father isn't a great ruler. He is, in every sense of the word, a good ruler. But he never really got them. His people. And above all, every little boy should at least once have the chance to be like everyone else, no matter how special and unique he is." _

_He pulled back the curtains of the small carriage windows and peered at the view beyond. They were still in the heart of Moscow, tall houses framing the streets, which were still empty and ghostly, only a few early workers already walking down them with their hands deep in their pockets and their heads lowered, the morning fog hanging over them and making everything seem like it was in black and white._

_Harry loudly yawned. Volodya had woken him up very early and his eyes were still puffy from the little sleep he'd gotten._

_"So you still won't tell me where you're taking me?" he pouted._

_"I'm taking you to meet some friends of mine," was all Volodya told him, and Harry settled with that, not questioning him any further._

_They traveled like that for a while, Harry falling asleep again at some point, the rocking of the carriage entrancing him, in that way little children tend to fall asleep in any surrounding, peacefully slumbering with their mouths hanging wide open and their little hands clutching the fabric beneath them, in this case the strong leather of the carriage-seats._

_When Harry awoke again, Volodya was still looking out the window, a quiet smile on his lips. Harry sat up, rubbing the sleep out of his eyes, and Volodya said: "Look at this Harry. This is your kingdom. This is what true beauty looks like."_

_Harry joined Volodya at his seat by the window and curiously looked at the view of field after field of emerald green grass on swooping hills. It did not look particularly interesting to him, just like a lot of green.  
He didn't understand why this view made Volodya nearly tear up, especially since he couldn't even see it. _

_"But you can't even see it," Harry voiced his doubts in that blunt, unapologetic way only children tend to have._

_It did not bother Volodya, Harry knew that by now. Other adults probably would have scolded him for saying such impolite things, but Volodya enjoyed honesty and sincere.  
He wasn't like any of the other adults, which was why Harry loved him so much. _

_"It doesn't matter. I can feel it. It feels like freedom." He had closed his eyes now, breathing in the fresh air and the smell of grass that streamed through the open window._

_Suddenly, the carriage came to an abrupt halt and the coachman opened their door. Harry and Volodya got out, Volodya telling the coachman to pick them up again in the evening, Harry looking at the small farmhouse they were standing in front of._

_The sun had risen fully by now and warm light was prickling their skin. The fog had vanished nearly completely, only a bit of mist still floating in the air._

_"Ready?" Volodya asked. Harry nodded and Volodya knocked on the wooden door.  
It was opened by a tall woman with long blonde hair who immediately smiled as she saw Volodya and the little boy next to him. _

_"Volodya!" she exclaimed happily, opening her arms wide, and tightly embraced him.  
"I haven't seen you in such a long time! It was about time you payed us a visit again." Volodya smiled back. _

_"I'm sorry my dear, but you know how it is, age can stop you from a lot of things. Not that it should, but I often find myself guilty of the old-man-syndrome, as I like to call it. Forgetting about adventures and fun and only drowning in your own bitterness and sorrow. This is my grandson by the way, Ha-"_

_"Harry!" the woman said, now turning to Harry. "I've heard so many things about you! My name is Yana."_

_She gave him a tight hug. She smelled of fresh bread and sugar. Harry liked her immediately._

_She looked at him for a moment with bright blue eyes shining with joy. Or maybe that was just the normal state of her eyes.  
Always shining with joy, just like her son's, as Harry was soon to find out. "Now let's get you inside, I'm sure my boys will be happy to meet you."_

_Harry and Volodya followed her into a tiny kitchen with a small hearth, fireplace and table. A man was sitting at the table, eating bread and cheese.  
He smiled when he saw Harry, crumbs falling off his chin. _

_"You pig!" Yana scolded, jokingly hitting the man with a towel nearby. Harry had to smile._

_"If you're looking for your peers, they are already outside," the man said through all the food in his mouth._

_"Thank you," Harry replied shyly. Yana opened the back door of the kitchen for him, gesturing for Harry to follow her._

_He looked questioningly at Volodya who gave him an encouraging nod and Harry left the kitchen to step outside. The sight he was greeted with took his breath away._

_Yellow. So much yellow. Sunflowers. So many sunflowers._

_Yana smiled at his reaction. "This is where we grow the sunflowers, but we grow many different kinds of flowers …and potatoes. We grow potatoes as well. Ah, there they are."_

_Two boys were now running towards them through the high plants. "I'll leave you guys to it" Yana said, turning around again._  
_"BE KIND TO EACHOTHER!" she yelled back over her shoulder at the two boys. "Lunch will be at two and don't get yourselves too dirty!"  
Then she added a muttered: "I don't know why I even try anymore, they'll get themselves dirty no matter what I do." _

_Harry turned around to the two boys now standing in front of him._

_One of them had white-blonde hair exactly like his mothers, his teeth slightly crooked, the other one soft brown hair and blue eyes._

_"Hi! My name is Niall. What's yours?" the blonde boy asked, grinning widely._

_"I'm Harry," Harry answered quietly._

_"Harry is a strange name. Why are you called Harry?"_

_"I don't know. My parents liked it, I suppose. It's not as strange as the name Niall."_

_"…Yeah, maybe. But your name is the strangest Louis. Louis is maybe the strangest name in the entire world."_

_"That's not true. It's French," the boy with the brown hair countered._

_"See? Told you. Strangest name in the entire world. Did you know the French eat frogs and slugs?"_

_"Did you know that I hate you and that I'm going to punch you if you don't shut up?"_

_"Did you know that you have to catch me first for that?" And with that Niall started running, Louis chasing after him. "Come on Harry! Let's catch him together!" he yelled over his shoulder.  
Harry obeyed and started running after Louis who was running after Niall. _

_And that had been it. That easy. As soon as Louis had caught Niall, Niall had started hunting Harry and Harry tried catching Louis again in an endless circle, the yellow of the sunflowers surrounding them, the sun shining down on them and their laughter brighter than all of it put together._

_When Harry finally caught Louis, they were both laughing so hard that they couldn't breathe anymore. They had been running for so long that they had left the fields and were now in a small forest, a little stream running next to them._

_"Okay, now let's find Niall, the little idiot," Louis said breathlessly. Since they both had to catch their breath first, they sat down next to each other, panting heavily and still giggling._

_"You're so fast," Harry said admirably._

_Louis gave him a smug grin. "Well, I'm the oldest, so I have to be, and I have a lot of training from always having to catch Niall."_

_Harry looked at the pine-needle-covered earth beneath his boots._

_"I wish I still had a brother," he said quietly._

_"Oh, Niall isn't my brother," Louis corrected him. Harry gave him a surprised look._

_"He's not? But I thought- Since you live together and have the same parents…"_

_"Yeah, but they just took me in when they found me. I was lying on their front step as a baby in a small basket and nothing on me but a piece of paper that said 'Louis Tomlinson'.  
So they assumed that was my name and that's what I'm called now."_

_"Oh…"_

_Louis shrugged. "My parents didn't want me I guess."_

_Harry didn't know what to say, but then a sentence Volodya had once said to him came into his mind and it seemed like a good time to use it.  
Maybe Louis would think he was smart then. He really wanted Louis to like him for some reason. _

_"Well, you're here now and from what I've seen, your new parents are awesome. Fate and destiny have their own strange ways, but sometimes the strange ways are the best ones."_

_Louis smiled. "Thanks. And I'm sorry about your brother."_

_"How did you-?"_

_"You said you wished you_ still _had a brother."_

_Harry now felt stupid for trying to seem smart in Louis' presence when one obviously could never be smarter than him._

_"Hey, look at that!" Louis suddenly said, pointing at a small flower next to Harry. It was white and tiny and so so fragile as it stood there next to the river stream. A daisy._

_"It looks so lonely," Harry whispered. He didn't know why he was whispering, but it just seemed appropriate, like loud voices could scare the flower and it would run away.  
For a while the only sound to be heard was the burbling of the water below, the two boys now lying on their stomachs next to each other, watching the flower._

_"Maybe it needs friends," Louis said a few seconds later._

_"We could be its friends," Harry suggested. He could see Louis smile next to him._

_"I would like that very much," he said, now looking at Harry. "Does that mean we are now friends as well?" he asked._

_"I guess so," Harry smiled._

_Louis held out his hand. Harry took it. Now they were friends.  
That simple. _

_But then again, everything is simple when you are six years old._

_In that moment Niall came running through the trees, panting heavily, arms raised in victory, declaring himself the winner since both of them had obviously given up.  
Louis and Harry didn't object and let Niall have his win. _

_Niall then suggested they should try to jump over the river to the oak on the other side of it and whoever jumped the farthest could choose which game to play next._  
_What seemed like a great idea to Harry soon ended in disaster for him, since he slipped on a stone and fell into the stream, climbing out again completely soaked and dripping, the other two boys laughing so hard they forgot to breathe._  
_Harry was a little embarrassed, but not for long, soon joining the others in their laughter._

_It was a glorious day. At some point they returned to the farm house, the table already set with delicious foods, not of the luxurious kind Harry was used to, but delicious nonetheless.  
Niall's father taught them how to whittle wood, they helped him seed potatoes and sunflowers on the fields and then played hide-and-seek in the woods. _

_It was a completely normal day to Louis and Niall, but such a strange experience for Harry, who had always assumed it was normal for people to curtsy all the time and to wear clothes that were not allowed to get dirty, since they were made from the finest materials of unfathomable wealth._

_When it was finally time for him and Volodya to leave, his clothes had holes in them, his skin was tanner than before, he had numerous scratches on his arms and legs, his cheeks were reddened from laughter and the sun, his eyes shining with joy, a bright smile still on his lips._

_Niall had already fallen asleep on his father's lap and his parents tightly hugged Harry farewell.  
He was just about to follow Volodya who was already sitting in the carriage, waiting for Harry, as Louis came running after him. _

_"Wait!" he said, panting heavily. It looked like he had come from a long run. "Will you come back someday?" he asked, looking at Harry with those blue eyes, shining bright in contrast to the slowly setting sun on the horizon, casting everything in grey shadows._

_"I hope so," Harry said._

_"Do you promise me?" Louis asked, holding out his little finger to Harry._

_"Yeah, I promise," Harry smiled and linked his finger with Louis'._

_"Here," Louis said after a few seconds, letting go of Harrys finger and solemnly stretching out his other hand to him. It was the little flower they had seen earlier in the woods._

_"I want you to have it. So you don't forget us."_

_Harry looked at Louis with big green eyes. "Thank you," he said, taking the flower from Louis' outstretched palm. "But I could never forget you."_

_He smiled at Louis and Louis smiled back, the night slowly creeping over them, shadows stretching everywhere around them._

_"Harry," Volodya said, head stretched out the window of the carriage. "We have to leave now."_

_Harry took one last look at his new friend and his blue eyes and then turned around, climbing into the carriage._

_Harry looked out the window, at the boy still standing in front of the farmhouse, giving him a little wave. Harry waved back, even as the carriage started moving and the house with the boy in front of it became smaller and smaller until it was eventually out of sight._

_"Will we ever come back?" he asked._

_Volodya only gave him a quiet smile. "I'm sure you will."_

_The jolting of the carriage slowly put Harry to sleep, laughter still echoing in his head, the sunlight still bright behind his eyelids, a quiet smile tugging on his lips, and the little flower still tightly clutched between his small hands._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs:  
> The walk with Niall: 'Dreams' by Fleetwood Mac  
> The flashback: 'Yellow' by Coldplay (I mean, obviously), 'If only' by Maria Taylor and 'Over the Rainbow' by Israel Kamakawiwo'ole,
> 
> Thanks again for reading! :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry meets Louis. Again.

"Hey Lou! I was right about the guest, look who I brought with me!" Niall yelled at the closed door of the farmhouse, hands still crossed behind his head, feet crossed on the side of the chariot. 

Harry tightly gripped the handle of the chariot, anxious to see Louis again.  
He had promised him to come back, to not forget him, but now he was the one afraid of not being remembered. 

The door burst open, a boy standing in the frame. He was small and lean, soft brown hair in a disarray, with high cheekbones, his loose shirt revealing delicate collarbones beneath it. 

"There you are Niall! I've been waiting for hours, delivering flowers to the palace shouldn't take that lo-" He suddenly stopped when he saw Harry. His eyes narrowed, then widened again in recognition. Apparently, he did remember him. Harry couldn't help but smile. 

"Look who I found, it's Harry! Remember?" Niall said cheerily "I told you I was right about that whole knife-dropping thing. Oh, and you won't believe it, but our dear little Harry here is the Tsar's son. I know, I couldn't believe it either."

Louis didn't say anything for a while, only watched Harry, obviously not able to fathom this information. 

"You-" Louis started, then took a deep breath and continued in a tight, pressed voice: "Could I talk to you Niall? Privately." He shot Niall a telling look and Harry a forced smile. "If you'll excuse us for just one second." He pulled Niall by the arm inside the kitchen, who gave Harry an apologetic grin over his shoulder.

As soon as the door had closed behind them, leaving Harry standing awkwardly on the grass, still holding on to the chariot, he heard Louis' voice hysterically say: "What the actual fuck Niall?"

"What what the fuck? You know, that wasn't very polite of you out there… Ouch! What's your problem?"

"My problem is that you've brought a stranger to our door, which is bad enough, but that stranger is the fucking Tsar of Russia and you expect me not to freak out just a little over that?"

"Well, he isn't the Tsar yet, he's only his son and he also isn't a stranger. He was here before, you know that!"

"Yes, but that was nearly fourteen years ago and I didn't know he was the Tsar of Russia! Oh my god, I can't believe this…"

"My god, chill out Lou. He's really nice and you really liked him when he visited back then. I thought you'd be happy about this! Plus, he's really fit, isn't he? I thought I was doing you a favour… Ouch! What'd you do that for?!"

"You know what that was for."

Harry didn't know what to do, he knew he shouldn't be listening to this conversation, even though he technically wasn't eavesdropping, he still felt like it. He decided to take a look behind the house, where the fields began. He rounded the corner of the farmhouse, yellow flowers that were softly swaying in the breeze greeting him behind it. He smiled and took a few steps inside the field, the petals tickling his hips. 

When he'd first been here, these flowers had been taller than him.  
The thought made him smile.

It was as if he could hear the echoes of their childish laughter in the air, in the wind rustling the leaves of the trees nearby... 

"Hey." He quickly turned around and saw Louis standing behind him. "I wanted to apologize. It was just… a lot, you know? The Tsar of Russia standing at your front door is just a bit strange and kind of overwhelming. Nothing you're mentally prepared for." 

Harry smiled at him. "Yeah, I suppose. But I'm not the Tsar, just the prince."

"Sure… just the prince. Because that's so much less weird. " He shook his head in disbelief.  
"I really had no idea…" 

"I'm sorry I didn't tell you before, but that was what it was about. It was about being treated like every other child, not being a prince for one day, but just Harry."

"I get that." They looked at each other, the sun already starting to set behind Harrys back, painting everything in a soft red color, Louis' long eyelashes casting shadows along his cheeks, blue eyes sparkling in the midst of them. Harry cleared his throat and forced his gaze to the ground. 

"So, you remember me, huh?"

" 'Course I remember you. How could I ever forget when you fell in the river and came out again all muddy and grumpy?"

Harry groaned. "Don't remind me of that again."

"You are still as curly as you were back then," Louis smiled.

"Not _as_ curly," Harry objected, tugging at a shoulder-length strand of his brown hair. 

"But still quite close. And you're taller than me now, much to my discontent." 

Harry laughed, the soft wind carrying it away and blowing strands of hair out of Louis' face. The tops of the trees nearby ruffled in the wind like viridescent feathers. 

"I guess I understand why you came here for your day in the life of normal people," Louis said after a while, looking at the flowers and the emerald-green forest behind them, an abundance of dark green leaves cloaked in shadows and the soft pink swirls of the dying sun. 

"These fields feel like freedom, even when you work on them every day."

"You could say they _field_ like freedom," Harry said.

"I'm going to pretend you didn't say that Dimples, because that is quite simply the worst joke I have ever heard."

Harry had to smile at the nickname but didn't respond, instead turning his face to the last rays of sunlight, closing his eyes and enjoying the warm prickle on his skin. He could feel Louis' eyes on him, but when Harry looked at him, Louis was watching the blushed clouds in the sky. 

Harry nervously started fiddling with the rings on his fingers, when he spotted a small pink flower the colour of the sky above them amidst the tall sunflowers. 

Harry bent down and picked it up, looked at the soft petals for a few seconds, then tucked the flower behind his ear, the blossom sticking out from his brown curls. When he looked at Louis again, he could see that his eyes were focused on him now, watching his movements and the flower behind his ear. 

Louis tilted his head to the side in a birdlike movement, a barely visible smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. 

"HEY LADS! I'm hungry!" Niall's voice suddenly yelled from the farm houses back door. Louis and Harry turned around, startled.  
They gave each other one last glance, then walked back to the house side by side, where Niall was already impatiently waiting for them. 

"Dinner isn't ready Lou," he said reproachfully, foot tapping against the wooden floorboards, eyebrows raised in upset. "It's your turn to prepare dinner tonight."

"No, it's not," Louis objected. 

Niall pointed his index finger at Louis accusingly. "Yes, it is. It was my turn yesterday, so you're up now."

Louis quietly cursed, then batted Niall's finger away from his nose. "Doesn't matter whose turn it is, it tastes like shit either way." 

"That's not true, I made a wicked stew the other day," Niall protested. 

"Not exactly the word I would use, I would describe it more as the slowly decomposing idea of a stew," Louis retorted. 

"I could cook," Harry suggested. The two boys both nearly snapped their necks to look at him, utter shock written across their faces. 

"No offence mate, but have you ever even seen a pot or a wooden spoon in your entire life?" Niall asked. 

Harry softly laughed and started nervously playing with his rings again. "Volodya often secretly took me to the palace kitchens, where I would help prepare dinner. He said cooking, creating something, strengthens the character and that food should never be taken lightly or seen as a given. That food is one of the most important things in this world and I should never forget that. And I really liked cooking, so I sneaked off to the kitchens to help there quite often."

Niall and Louis both stared at him, obviously surprised and taken aback by the fact that the crown-prince of Russia sometimes prepared his own meals. Niall cleared his throat and took a step to the side, revealing the small hearth behind him. "Well, do your thing," he said and Harry gladly did as he was told.

He made a stew. It wasn't glorious or life-changing, but Louis and Niall devoured the whole pot in the matter of a few minutes nonetheless. They sat around the table, Louis fixing each a cup of tea, drinking, eating and laughing together. It wasn't much, but it was absolutely fucking perfect. 

Niall had to laugh so hard at one of Harrys stories that he spewed stew all across the table, splattering Harrys coat, which made Harry giggle so much he snorted tea across the table himself, which sprinkled all over Louis, who acted as if he was completely appalled by this, throwing pieces of potato skin at Niall and Harry until they all had to laugh so much breathing became very hard and their stomachs started hurting. 

When it was time for Harry to go, the crescent already high on the clear night sky, he did so reluctantly.  
"Are you sure it's okay for you to walk back to the palace all on your own? I could go with you," Louis offered, but Harry shook his head. 

"No, that's okay. But thank you very much. For everything."

"I don't think it's allowed to let the Tsar walk the nightly roads all on his own, I'm pretty sure that's a crime we could get hanged for," Niall voiced his concerns. 

Harry softly chuckled. " _Future_ Tsar. And I'm would not let that happen, I promise. And besides, you spewed stew all over your future Tsar and your head is still on your body, so I don't think you should worry about a simple murder, you have committed much bigger crimes." He pointed at the small brown spots that still covered the material of his coat.

"Well, when you're dead, you won't care anymore, would you?"

"You'd be surprised." Niall gave him a tight squeeze and soft pat on the shoulder before Harry turned to Louis. 

"Well … bye, I guess," Harry said. 

"Bye," Louis murmured, giving him a small smile but not looking him in the eye. "Do you think this time it will also be fourteen years until we see each other again?"

"I'm not going to let that happen, I promise."

"Last time you promised you'd come back."

"And I did, didn't I?" Louis smiled at those words, small crinkles forming at the corners of his eyes. "You did." 

Harry gave them both one last little wave, before turning around and strolling down the muddy road, two pairs of blue eyes following him until he was out of sight, the moon watching and looking out for him when the two boys couldn't anymore, maybe shining a little brighter than before to lighten the path and make sure that Harry Styles, the boy on whose shoulders the weight of an entire kingdom rested, had this one night of beauty and recklessness and nothing would come between him and his thoughts about that crinkly, sunny smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! 
> 
> Sorry for the inconsistent chapter lengths, I'll try to do a better job at that in the future. 
> 
> The songs for this chapter are "The night we met" by Lord Huron and "First day of my life" by Bright eyes.
> 
> I hope you all have a wonderful day/night! Thanks for reading  
> :)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A walk in the palace gardens.

The Emir and his family arrived the next morning, the horses pulling a dark red carriage through the Kremlin's gates and down the gravel path to the front steps of the palace. 

Harry greeted them all, as one after the other emerged from their carriages. The Emir, a fairly small man, with a bright laugh and friendly eyes, his wife, who was the complete opposite to her husband, a cool look on her face, eyes cold and lips pressed tightly together, three sons, two of them as happy and courteous as their father, though a bit birdbrained, and one with eyes as cold as his mothers, but obviously quite cunning. 

Zayn was his name. The one all the maidens in the Kremlin had been whispering about, "the ice-cold beauty of the desert" as they liked to call him. Harry now got why people called him that.  
He was made of fire and ice, warmth and cold, beauty and deceitfulness. 

At last, the Emir's two daughters were introduced to Harry, Qitura and Zarah, one of them eighteen, the other one the mere age of eleven. Harry shot a few of his council members a dirty look as he saw how young the princess was, one of whom he'd have to marry. And it would definitely not be the eight-year-old Zarah, who still had a puppet tightly pressed to her chest. 

He bowed and talked and charmed like he was supposed to, apologizing for his father's absence "due to an unexpected turn of events concerning his health" as he had been drummed into saying numerous times by the council members. 

He got dinner over with, laughing at the Emirs stories, which turned out to be not as hard as he'd expected. The Emir was very pleasant company, a surprisingly kind and generous man, a bit clumsy and doltish, quite the contrast to his wife who sneered at everything she saw, only a small cold smile playing at her ruby-red mouth from time to time. 

One thing became evident very fast: The Emir loved his two daughters more than anything in the world, always ready to read their every wish from their eyes, ready to fulfil them all should the two girls do as much as open their mouths. He looked at them like they were his moon and stars and they looked back at him as if he'd been the one to hang them on the firmament. 

The third son, Zayn, excused himself to his chambers quite early, kissing his sisters goodnight and disappearing down the golden corridors, his robe drifting behind him.  
Harry would have to let Liam deal with him, which Liam would surely hate him for.  
He could already hear his complaints and whining. 

After a while, Harry excused himself to bed as well, saying his father's state had taken quite a toll on his sleep and him being very tired due to it. He felt a pang of guilt at those words once he realized they were a lie. He hadn't thought much about his father at all if he was honest with himself, only about his own fate and what his father's death would do to _him_.

Feeling selfish and cruel, he decided to visit his father again, hoping it would take some of the remorse off his chest, but the doctor wouldn't let him see the Tsar, saying he wasn't sure if the illness might not be contagious after all, given that a servant who had treated his father now showed similar symptoms.  
Suddenly it hit Harry that this might mean he'd never get to see his father again, not even once, before he died.  
He quickly walked to Liam's chambers, hoping to find comfort with him as he always did, but Liam wasn't there. 

Defeated and utterly jaded, he let himself fall onto his soft, enormous bed, thoughts of princes, pipes, puppets, and posies flying around in his head, putting him to an uneasy and agitated sleep.

***

As the next week passed, Harry attended council meetings, entertained the Emir's family -even Zayn a few times- and basically did everything a future Tsar should do, but was always thinking about when he'd have the chance to go back to Niall and Louis' farm, longing to see them again. 

As it turned out, that moment would come sooner than expected, even without him going to the farm, as one morning, while Harry was strolling through the palace gardens, enjoying the good weather, Liam came up to him, a dreamy look on his face. 

"Why are you smiling like that?" Harry asked, suspiciously narrowing his eyes. 

Liam immediately stopped smiling and cleared his throat.

"I'm not smiling!"

"Yes, you are."

"Well, can a man not smile on such a beautiful day? I mean, look around, the sky is blue, the sun is shining, bees are buzzing. I mean, there's no reason not to be happy."

Harry couldn't help smiling himself now, raising his eyebrows and asking: "What does the prince think about the weather? I notice you have been spending quite a lot of time with him recently. Is that what you are talking about in those hours?" 

Liam's ears had turned a bright shade of red as he started stammering: "I don't … No! … I … We … I don't know what you're talking about! He is nothing but a spoiled brat who doesn't know what manners or human compassion is and I don't have any interest in talking about the weather with him, or anything, for that matter!"

Harry shook his head, quietly laughing. "Fine, whatever you say."

"He just demanded that I play chess with him, that's all. As you know, I'm quite the good chess player and he needs someone who really offers a challenge, but it's absolutely torturous playing with him! I mean, not that he's bad to look at, but that doesn't countervail the extreme lack of empathy that boy has."

"Okay," Harry said, still smirking at Liam's defensiveness. 

It was quiet for a while, the two of them sauntering along the gravel path, the quiet chirping of birds the only thing to be heard. 

"Well, you're one to talk anyway!" Liam suddenly exclaimed, a smug grin on his face.  
"I mean, there is no stranger standing at my front gates, demanding an audience with me." Harrys smile was immediately wiped off his face, head snapping around, as he stared at Liam in shock. 

"What did you just say?" 

"I said you're not one to talk," Liam answered, taken aback by Harrys extreme reaction.

Harry impatiently shook his head. "No, the other thing," he urged. 

"That there is a handsome stranger demanding an audience with you? He's been standing there for nearly half an hour now but the guards obviously wouldn't let him in, I mean he looks like a peasant, so I didn't think-"

"I need to go," Harry interrupted him, already hurrying down the path toward the citadels entrance. 

"Sure, whatever you say… I'll see you later?" Liam yelled after him, but Harry didn't respond, speeding up his steps, nearly running to the gates. 

The last thing he heard was a muttered "And Prince Zayn _is_ an arsehole!", before Liam was out of earshot.

Harry hurried to the entrance of the Kremlin, almost racing when he saw Louis Tomlinson having a passionate debate with one of the guards standing next to the gate.

"I'm very sorry, but as I said: we can't let you into the citadel nor can we deliver your gift to the prince, we have our orders," the guard was saying, apparently not for the first time and obviously annoyed. 

Louis threw up his arms in frustration and cried "But I do know him! And they are just flowers for god's sake! It's not like a Japanese assassin is hiding in there!" Harry had to grin at that; at Louis' feisty comments and his relentlessness. 

In that moment, Louis spotted Harry from behind the bars, a relieved grin on his face. 

"Look who deigned to show up, the Tsar himself," he said, raising his eyebrows. 

The guard turned around, looking at Harry as if he'd expect him to demand the arrest of this boy, but was surprised as Harry only smiled and said " _Future_ Tsar, how many times do I have to tell you? And I have important things to do, you know? Like decide which colour the napkins at the royal ball should have and which outfit I'm going to wear. Important political decisions that are of great significance to this entire empire." 

"Well, I'm sure you'll find the time for the most important part of that empire: Me. The greatest burgess of them all."

"I don't know about greatest, given your size, but maybe top ten best."

"Well, my grandiose and formidable bottom easily makes up for that disadvantage."

Harrys had to snort at those words and the look the guard was giving him, completely shocked that Harry had not yet demanded this boy be thrown in the dungeons.  
"It's good to see you again," Harry said earnestly, looking at Louis through the bars between them.

It suddenly struck him that this was the most painfully accurate portrait of reality. Harry standing in front of the golden palace entrance, exquisitely shaped plants and the buttery golden façade of the palace behind him; Louis on the other side, in a run-down shirt with numerous holes in it, behind him the vendors on the red square and buzzing of Moscow, such a stark contrast to Harrys surroundings.

"Well, it's also good to see you again, but it would be even better if you told this bloke-" he pointed an accusing finger at the guard, at which the guard only rolled his eyes "- that you know me and I wasn't lying before."

Harry turned to the guard and said "I do know him and he wasn't lying before." The guard rolled his eyes even harder, so much that Harry wondered if he had seen the insides of his brain.  
But when the guard noticed that he had just rolled his eyes at the future Tsar of Russia all the colour drained from his face and he started apologizing, bowing deep, obviously panicked.

"You don't have to apologize, just open the gate for my friend here," Harry smiled.

The guard quickly did as he was told, relieved to not have to spend the night in a prison cell. 

Louis stepped through the gates as soon as they were opened, giving the guard an obscene gesture with his hand, a smug smile on his face. 

"So… what are you doing here?" Harry asked, not knowing which answer he was hoping for.

Louis shrugged. "I've always wanted to see the palace." He looked over Harrys shoulder, looking the palace walls up and down. Now Harry knew what answer he hadn't been hoping for.  
"Not as impressive as I would have hoped, to be honest."

"Well, you haven't seen the inside yet."

"I suppose."

"But I'd actually rather show you the gardens, they are really quite stunning this time of year." 

"Well, then I'd love to see them. I have an affinity for stunning things," Louis answered. Harry didn't know if it was his imagination, but he had the feeling Louis was looking at him at those words. His cheeks had gotten warm.

Louis started walking in the direction of the palace gardens, Harry quickly catching up with him. "So, what's the real reason you came to the palace today?" Harry tried again.

"What makes you think the first answer I gave you wasn't the truth?"

"I don't believe you have never seen the palace. I mean every child growing up in or around this city has seen the walls of the Kremlin palace at least once, haven't they?"

"Well, technically it wasn't the truth. Niall's parents often sold their flowers on the red square and Niall and I would sneak to the gates to watch the citadel grounds until we were chased away by the guards. And I actually came here to give you these sorry excuses of flowers." Louis gestured at the small bouquet of flowers in his hand. "I swear they looked better this morning, but I guess the sun didn't do much for them. Now they look sort of dead. But they wouldn't even deliver them to you, I think those guards thought I had poisoned them in hopes you would eat them, the first step in my brilliant plan to kill the Tsar and take over the throne." He stretched out his arm, offering the flowers to Harry. "Sorry again."

Harry gladly took them, a smile tugging on his lips. "You have absolutely nothing to be sorry about. They are perfect."

"Well, that's definitely not the word I would use. I mean they were actually quite beautiful when I plucked them this morning, but now they are simply hideous. Definitely far from perfect."

"That's exactly what makes them so beautiful," Harry said, burying his nose in the richly smelling blossoms. 

"Sure, whatever you say Dimples."

They were now ambling through the palace gardens, passing bright flowers and high trees, all strictly in file. "Well, I guess you didn't really need those flowers, you obviously already have loads. And much prettier ones at that," Louis said, gesturing to the flowers that bordered the path. 

"Trust me, I needed them. Especially since I couldn't save our little friend. I tried, but the laws of nature are cruel and barbarous." 

Louis started smiling. "You kept it?"

"Of course I kept it. I watered it every day myself and when it started wilting I put it in the heaviest book I could find and pressed it in there, so in a way, it became immortal," Harry told the ground.

"Aw, that's so sweet Harry," Louis joked, but still managed to sound earnest.

They reached a small fountain, a cast-iron peafowl standing in its center, the water blithely and quietly burbling around it. 

"Want to sit down for a second?" Harry asked, invitingly inclining his head to the fountain. They both lowered themselves on the fountain rim, sitting in quiet for a while. 

"So, what's this ball you were talking about?" Louis asked after a while.

"Oh, it's the celebration of the Emir's visit and also my upcoming coronation," Harry explained. 

"Sounds fun," Louis said. Harry didn't know if it was meant as a joke or if Louis really meant it. 

"Would you like to come?" Harry asked without thinking. 

Immediately after he asked, he wanted to smack himself. He hadn't thought about the fact that this time the ball wasn't just a fun celebration, where he drank too much, ate too much and danced wildly until his feet hurt, but his opportunity to meet possible wives and form connections he needed as Tsar, to prove himself as a good heir to the throne. 

But the more he thought about it, the more he wanted Louis and Niall to be there. It would be a lot more fun with them there, that was for sure. 

"Yeah, sure. I'll just order my coachman to bring me to the palace, wearing my expensive golden draft, and on the way I'll stop by the jeweller to buy a carpet made out of rubies, so I don't get my shoes dirty on the way between the carriage and the palace entrance."

"Louis, I'm serious. You and Niall should come, it would be so much fun with the two of you there!" 

"I'm sorry Harry, but that's just not our world. This-" He flourished to their surroundings, the neat flowers, the bright fountains, the palace, and the towers with their golden domes "-this is not what either of us is used to. I mean, I can't even afford a new shirt that doesn't have holes in it and I certainly can't appear at the palace festivities looking like this." He motioned to the pitted brown clothes he was wearing at the moment, which he had obviously recently cleaned, but were still dirty, some filth apparently too relentless to wash off. 

Harry was touched by the thought that maybe Louis had cleaned them for him, so he wouldn't look too meagre while visiting him. But he hated that Louis thought he would have to pretend to be something he wasn't in his presence, that maybe Louis thought he wasn't worth his time and wasn't good enough for him. That he'd have to change. Not when Louis was so beautiful and perfect. In every sense of the word. Louis Tomlinson was beautiful. In pitted clothes and disheveled hair, dirt covering his skin. He was simply beautiful.

Or maybe Harry was just reading too much into simple clothes, seeing something that wasn't actually there. 

"I wouldn't even know how to talk to people. They'd all look at me like I was nothing but dirt on the ground, as superior people like to do. I don't have the necessary etiquette for a night in royal company, I don't know any plays or composers and certainly have no clue whatsoever how to handle caviar. Are you supposed to eat it with a spoon? A fork? Do you eat in in a soup bowl? See, I have absolutely no adequacy for the wealthy and cultured company at court. But thanks for the invitation anyway, it's really generous of you to offer something like that." He laughed as he said it, a soft laugh, worn, but happy. 

"Oh, please," Harry begged, dragging the word and clutching his hands as though he was praying. "I could give both of you something to wear and it doesn't matter if you don't know how to talk to the gentry, because you don't have to. Believe me, they aren't worth Louis Tomlinson's time anyway, you're too good and smart for them, especially if they look at you like that. And remember, I'm nearly the Tsar of Russia, and you would be my guest, so if anyone dares to look at you that way, I'll threaten them with a night in the dungeons."

Louis turned to the palace, away from Harry. "There are dungeons in there?"

"No, but they don't need to know that." He could see Louis smile at that. 

"Really, not even a small one? Surely there's a dungeon somewhere in this citadel. If not, you should definitely get on that as soon as you're crowned."

"Well, there actually is a small dungeon but we don't really use it anymore." Harry pointed at one of the seven red towers surrounding the complex. "That's the Annunciation Tower. Ivan the third used it as a dungeon during his reign."

"Ivan the terrible," Louis added. 

Harry had to swallow at that. He had always been afraid of the names people called rulers after their time, without their consent.  
Just one word that narrowed their entire being down to a few letters, their entire reign to nothing but a sobriquet.

"I've always wondered what mine would be," Harry said, fiddling with his rings. A habit of his that his father had often berated him for, saying it was a sign of nervousness and therefore weakness, inappropriate for a prince, much less a Tsar. Harry stopped fiddling with his rings at the thought, instead clutching his hands tightly together, placing them in his lap. 

"Your what?"

"My name. The one people will remember me as. I was always so scared I would be called 'the terrible' or 'the coward' or something like that. I mean, Ivan earned his name, for sure, but I just want to be remembered as good, you know? Not as 'magnificent' or 'sublime' or 'one of the best Tsars Russia has ever had', but just as 'okay'. I would be totally fine with 'average' or 'intersection'." 

He kept his gaze on the entwined fingers in his lap, not able to look at Louis. From the corners of his eyes, he could see how Louis lifted his legs on the fountain margin, turning to Harry, cross-legged. 

"Well, let me tell you something. I may not be an expert in 'Harry Styles', but I am completely and absolutely certain that he will never ever be anything even remotely close to average or boring. And you may don't like that, but I can tell you that no matter how hard you try otherwise, you are still utterly special and extraordinary. The history books may not know that, but every single person who ever looks at you, has to see how magnificent you are. And plus, those names you just listed are really boring and have a bad ring to them." 

Harrys cheeks burned at all those beautiful things Louis was saying about him, his gaze still intently fixed on his lap. Louis' words made him happy, yet he still somehow felt like crying. 

"So, let me ask you again, Harry Styles: What would you want to be remembered as? And don't you dare choose anything even remotely suggesting that you are anything short of extraordinary." 

The corners of Harrys mouth inadvertently moved upwards.

"There's that dimple again," Louis commented. "Maybe you should be called 'Harry the dimply' or 'Harry the curly'."

"Yeah, maybe."

"So? What would you want to be remembered as?"

Harry thought about it for a second, but he already knew the answer. 

"'Harry the kind', maybe?" He looked up again and his eyes met Louis', the fountain still burbling next to him.

Louis pretended to ponder Harrys answer, narrowing his eyes and softly swaying his head from side to side. "'Harry the kind'", he muttered to himself. "I could see that … Yeah, I could definitely see that. Why'd you choose that one?"

"Don't know," Harry murmured. "I just think that kindness is the most important thing in life and that's what I would want to be remembered as. Not anything exquisite about my reign, or how good of a ruler I was, but the simple fact that I tried to make this world a little bit kinder. But that doesn't matter anyway. Rulers don't get to choose what they will be remembered as. Maybe I'll never know."

"Can I tell you a secret Harry?" Louis asked conspiratorially, slightly leaning forward, legs still crossed between them. Harry mirrored his gesture, and Louis quietly said "I think you can do anything you want, Harry Styles." 

His breath tickled Harrys ear as he said it, leaving a soft shiver in its wake. It may only have been one simple sentence, but Harry believed it.  
Those simple words said by Louis somehow made him feel invincible. Suddenly it was getting harder to breathe. 

They looked at each other for one second that seemed much longer but still too short, before Louis abruptly cleared his throat and stood up.

"Well, I need to get going now. You know, work and all that. And Niall is probably already waiting for me, if he hears that I visited the palace without him he's going to freak out. He already wouldn't stop talking about the throne room you showed him, and the loos. Apparently, there's something really special about the loos. Is it true the toilet seats are covered in velvet? I definitely need to try them out at some point, sounds like fun," Louis babbled. 

"Oh, sure," Harry answered, perplexed by Louis' sudden interruption. He had hoped Louis would stay a bit longer. 

"Thanks again for the flowers, I really love them." He gestured to the bouquet of droopy flowers on the fountain margin next to him. 

Louis gave him an apologetic smile. "I swear they weren't so flabby when I plucked them."

"Would you please consider coming to the ball?" Harry asked, in the hope to maybe change his mind. Louis already opened his mouth in protest, but Harry quickly stopped him before he could dismiss the idea. "I know what you will say, but just think about it, okay? And don't worry about what to wear. I'm sure Niall would love the idea, by the way." He raised his eyebrows cheekily at the last sentence, knowing that Niall would absolutely adore the idea and would never let the opportunity pass.

"You're not playing fair, Styles," Louis answered, pointing his finger at Harry. 

Harry grinned, and Louis grinned back. 

"Well, goodbye then. I'll see you," Louis said, turning around and strolling back through the gardens to the Kremlin's entrance, giving Harry no chance to say goodbye or offer to accompany him on his way. 

The sun turned Louis' hair into a soft auburn, the red flowers lining the way a strong contrast to his brown and dirty clothes. Harry watched him until he had rounded a corner and was out of sight. He stayed seated on the fountain margin for a while, the flowers and bees his only company, lost in thought, fiddling with the rings on fingers. 

***

The next morning, he ordered his chamber boy Yegor to deliver two packages to Louis' and Niall's farm, both containing clothes suitable for even the brightest of balls at the royal court.  
Because hope is always the last to die.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys! 
> 
> The song inspirations for this chapter were "Glass in the park" by Alex Turner and "Here comes the sun" by The Beatles. (You know, 'cause Louis is the sun and all that ;) )
> 
> I forgot to tell you, but please leave a comment if you'd like to, those make me really happy.
> 
> Anyway, thanks for reading, and I hope you have a great day/night! :)


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dancing, moonlight, and candles.

The ballroom of the palace was filled with people, smoke from their cigarettes floating in the air, the clunks of their sparkling glasses containing rich wine accompanying the sounds of their laughter, voices, and the melodies played by the orchestra in the corner. The women were wearing colourful dresses with wide skirts, heavy colliers hanging from their necks and pearls braided in their pinned-up hair, frantically fanning themselves. The glass chandeliers were hanging low, casting white and golden spots on the dance floor and the guests' skin.  
The atmosphere was almost intoxicating, the muggy air only ventilated by the open glass doors leading to a stone balcony and the palace gardens. 

Harry was dressed in a rather simple raiment, black with delicate golden threads embroidered in the fabric, his rings gleaming on his long fingers. 

Hours went by, dragging into what seemed like eternity, as he chatted to the daughters of counts and state officials that were hoping to marry their offspring to the royal family.  


He talked, danced, debated and talked some more, about politics, horse races, operas and architecture, all the while keeping an eye on the heavy entrance doors, hoping for two boys to walk in, one as bright as the chandeliers hanging above his head, and one as cool as the nightly air blowing in the room. 

Time went by, and the doors did not open for those two boys, only for members of the gentry visiting from St. Petersburg and Nowosibirsk, for servants bringing drinks, and the Emir's family flouncing into the room with their chins held high, oriental fabric and accessories making them stand out from the other guests like tulips in a bed of pansies. 

Harry could see Liam's lips slightly part at the sight of the youngest son, Zayn, walking into the room with a calm and disinterested look on his face, eyelids heavy, covering golden-brown eyes that were sparkling in the candlelight. 

Liam nudged him with his shoulder, tilting his head to the elder daughter Qitura. "You know what to do," he murmured. "She's your best option in marriage. And it's not like she is ill-favoured. A lot of men in this room would envy you for her hand."

"I'm sure that's not the only thing they envy me for," Harry said, glancing around the room, seeing the furtive and not so furtive looks people were giving him, whispering to each other afterwards, clearly debating if he could ever be as good a Tsar as his father was and how unfair it was that they were not in his position. 

But Liam was right, Qitura was certainly not ill-favoured. She was beautiful, with the waterfall of raven-black hair falling over her shoulders, colourful earrings sparkling in their midst. She looked like an exotic, yet undiscovered bird, sitting in a tree branch amongst delicious fruits.  
But she was also cold. Cold like her mother and brother, like an icy breeze in the desert. Unreachable and dismissive.  
But Harry also knew that she was the best option as spouse and the well-being of this empire. 

He took a big gulp of the wine in his cup, squared his shoulders, took a deep breath, and walked over to the family, cheerfully greeting them, complimented their looks and voiced his delight about their arrival. 

Glancing over his shoulder while chatting to the two older brothers, he saw Liam gesturing to Qitura, pretending to dance with someone. Harry turned back to the two sons, cleared his throat and excused himself.  
He walked over to the two daughters, Qitura leaning down to her younger sister, listening to something she was whispering in her ear. 

"Good evening, my ladies," he said. The younger girl stopped whispering into her sister's ear, shyly pressing a doll to her chest. Qituras expression immediately turned cool and blank, a smile stretching her red lips.  
Harry could tell it was fake, much like his own. 

"Can I say how beautiful the two of you look? People weren't exaggerating when they spoke of the lovely princesses."

They both curtsied, robes spreading on the marbled floor. "Thank you very much my lord," Qitura said. 

Harry turned to the little girl, Zarah. "And who do we have here?" he asked, pointing at the porcelain doll in her hands. 

"Her name is Kitty," the girl answered proudly, stretching her arms slightly, so Harry could take a closer look at the doll. "Mother said I wasn't allowed to bring her, but I did anyway. She says I'm too old for toys. I don't care what mother says," she explained defiantly, casting her mother a dirty look, who was speaking to a few council members, throwing her head back, loudly laughing.  
It sounded shrill and forced, the laugh not reaching her eyes. It never did. 

Qitura nudged her sister warningly. "Don't talk about mother like that," she pressed between clenched teeth. "She loves you very much, and only wants what is best for you."  
Zarah started pouting, crossing her arms in protest. 

"Well, I think Kitty is the guest of honour tonight, and she should definitely be treated as such," Harry said, straightening imaginary creases on the dolls dress. 

Zarah stopped pouting, beaming up at him instead, a grin on her face. "Maybe you can meet the rest of my dolls sometimes. But they aren't just dolls, I also have cuddly animal toys. They are all very nice, that's why they are my best friends," she said, hopeful. "We often have tea parties, where they tell me their secrets and I tell them mine." 

"I would love to come to one of those parties one day, they sound delightful," Harry smiled. "And I would also love to meet those friends of yours, I'm sure they are great company."

Zarah smiled even brighter. "They are."

Harry turned to Qitura again, remembering Liam's weird pantomime from earlier. "As I said, you look lovely this evening. May I be in luck of a dance with you?"  
He slightly bowed, taking her hand in his, and kissed her gloved fingers. 

"It would be my pleasure," she answered. She had to. You couldn't refuse any request of the future Tsar, especially not an offer to dance. 

Qitura turned to a guard behind her, one they had brought with them from their homecountry. "Please look out for her," she said, tilting her head to her sister.  
The guard nodded and took a small step to the young girl.

Harry led Qitura to the dance floor, jealous looks from every girl he hadn't yet danced with following them. They took their places among the dancers, facing each other.  
The orchestra started playing a new song, the people curtsying to each other, then starting the dance. 

"So, my lady, what do you think of Russia?" Harry asked, his arms and feet performing the movements nearly automatically. He had danced like this so many times, had had so many lessons with Wasilia, the motions had become part of his flesh and blood. _1,2,3,4. 1,2,3,4._

Apparently, Qitura was also very familiar with the dance, as she confidently moved her arms and feet with the music. "It's colder than I am used to," she answered his question, Harry spinning her around as they moved across the dance floor. 

"Then it must be very warm where you come from, or I am simply not used to anything else, but to me, the weather is quite pleasant this year."

"It is indeed very warm where I come from. I suppose the climate just takes some getting used to. I am hoping to see snow during my stay here. I have heard it's stunning, soft like feathers and bright like the sun."

"Well, believe me, after a while you won't find the snow so beautiful anymore. Not when you have seen nothing else for months. The first snowfall of the year is always lovely, but the cold that comes with it not so much. Are you planning to stay till winter?" He grabbed her by the waist, lifting her above his head. 

When she had solid ground under her feet again, she replied "Well, that depends if you will choose to propose to me."

Startled by her directness, Harry almost made a mistake in the dance, nearly stepping on her feet. He didn't say anything to that. "It would be the right decision, you know?" she continued. "Politically, it would be the best choice you can make." She nudged her head to her father, standing by the door, watching them with a wide grin on his face. "My father would certainly be delighted." Now she looked at Liam's father, who was standing near the door, also observing them with a pleased look. "And it looks like the members of your council approve of the idea as well." 

The dance had gotten faster, the candle-lights blurring to a black and gold, the chatter of the guests and the sounds of the orchestra blending together, creating one loud buzzing noise. They were now spinning around the room faster and faster, making Harry slightly woozy. He could spot single faces in the mixture of gold and black colours around them, watching them.  
Watching him. 

Liam's father, drinking from his cup, red wine coating his lips, eyes narrowed. A snake.  
Prince Zayn, black hair surrounding the golden skin of his face, which seemed to glow from the inside out, like a candle swathed in darkness.  
Liam, who was standing next to him, a concerned look on his face.  
Zarah, still clutching the doll to her chest, the guard standing next to her watching them dance as well, the look on his face strange and inscrutable. 

And then Harry saw him. 

In the midst of all the bleary colours and shapes, a pair of blue eyes, steady and calm, like the cold breeze cooling Harrys heated skin. Like two ponds, anchoring him, washing away the heat of the dancefloor and the moving bodies around him.  
Apparently, he had drunk more wine than he remembered. 

But who cared? Louis was here, in the dark, noble raiment Harry had sent him, Niall standing next to him, looking around in amazement, his gold-blonde hair competing with the candle light around him. They were here.

Harry wanted nothing more than to run over and greet them, but the dance still hadn't reached its end, so he had to endure two more minutes of the endless twirling and striding, his eyes always fixed on Louis and Niall who were watching him. Niall with a happy grin on his face, Louis only with a slim smile. 

When the orchestra finally stopped, the instruments playing one last note, Harry bowed to Qitura, who sank into a deep curtsy. 

"Thank you very much for dancing with me, my lady," he said. "I'm very sorry to leave this abruptly, but you will have to excuse me. I wish you a splendid rest of the night."

He quickly turned around and started marching toward Niall and Louis, unable to stop the wide grin spreading on his face. "You came," he said as soon as he had reached them. 

"Are you mad?" Niall yelled. "Of course we came! I mean, it's a ball in the Kremlin. I think it's not really a debate whether to come or not, but apparently for some people it is." He looked at Louis at those words, who just innocently shrugged his shoulders. 

"He forced me to come," Louis explained. 

"I nearly had to drag him all the way here. He's way too stubborn," Niall added. 

"But thank you. For the invitation and the suits and everything. I don't think I've ever felt this fancy or clean." Louis looked down at himself, at the dark, slightly glittering suit.  
He did look very handsome. Beautiful. But then again, he always did.

"They _suit_ you very well," Harry giggled. 

Louis rolled his eyes, a fond smile on his lips. "I think you just outdid yourself in worst joke of the century Dimples, and once again, we will not speak of this any further. For both our sakes." 

Harry softly chuckled. "Do you want something to drink? If you do, just take whatever you want, the servants should be going around offering drinks to the guests." He looked around the room, searching for something to offer them. 

"Hell, yeah!" Niall said. "You don't have to tell me that twice. I'm going to get pissed tonight. I mean, how many times do you get the chance to drink the best alcohol in the country and eat the best food in the world?" And with that, he was off, steering to one of the servants, snatching a heavy cup and something to eat off his tray.  
He then proceeded to chat to a lady standing near him, who looked at him, confused, but not entirely deprecatory.  
But then again, who in their right mind could ever resist Niall Horan and his honey-like grin?

Harry turned back to Louis, who asked "So… who was that girl you were dancing with?"

Harry didn't want to read too much into that, Louis was probably just curious, but maybe, _maybe_ , was it possible that he was … jealous? Did Harry want him to be? Okay, he had definitely drunk more wine than he had intended. 

"Oh, she is the emir's daughter and one of the options for…" He quickly stopped, before he could say the daunting, scary word, that he somehow didn't want to mention to Louis. _Marriage_. But Harry should have known that Louis was smarter than him. He had repeated the same mistake he did when he was six years old. Thinking you could ever be smarter than Louis, or lying to him.  
Louis always knew. 

He raised his eyebrows, jaw slightly clenched. As a servant passed, he quickly grabbed a glass of wine and took one large swing. "Marriage?" he asked after he swallowed.

Harry gulped. "Um… yeah. Since I will be Tsar very soon I will need a … spouse…"

"Yes, obviously," Louis said. He looked at Qitura who was standing next to her father and a few governors, smiling politely at something they had said. "She seems lovely," Louis said cheerily. "Do you already know if you will propose to her? I mean, she seems great but there are so many great options in this room. I mean, look at her." He pointed at a petite blonde girl with porcelain skin in a baby-blue dress, who looked as if she had just bitten into a lemon or someone next to her had produced heavy gas. 

"That girl seems delightful. I'm sure you could have a splendid time with her." He took another gulp of the thick red wine, then continued his speech. "Or what about her?" He pointed at a rather voluminous women in a cherry-red-coloured dress, who was wildly and loudly cackling at something the man she was speaking to had said, her face turning the colour of her dress. "With her, you'd as least never have to worry about not having a good time. She seems like she's very easy to amuse." 

He turned to another girl, her brown locks falling over a purple dress. "Or that one. She seems lovely and you two even have similar hair." He motioned to Harrys brown curls. "You could give each other styling advise for it. By the way, do you think she dunked that dress in mashed plums before she came here?"

"Okay, before you take apart every single person in this room, why don't we return our attention to you and the fact that you actually turned up?" Harry quickly intervened. 

Louis shrugged, taking another glug of his wine. "I was just trying to help," he said. 

"You were definitely very helpful," Harry laughed. "Maybe you worked as Cupid's assistant in another life." He took Louis by the shoulders and softly steered him away from the dance floor, toward a few heavy golden armchairs covered in velvet fabric. "Why don't we take a seat?" he asked. 

Louis took a short glance back at the dance floor behind him, then did a double take and fully turned around. He smacked his palm to his forehead, a soft laugh escaping him. "You can't leave that boy alone for even one second, can you?"

Harry also turned around, looking for what had made Louis laugh, but he didn't need to search for long. It was fairly obvious what Louis had meant. 

Niall was standing in the middle of the dance floor, forming a circle with a few other guests, holding each other by the hand, skipping to the rhythm of the music. They all looked as if they were having the time of their lives, the alcohol obviously making them quite jolly. The other guests around the room were either happily clapping to the rhythm and laughing at the spectacle, or sneering at it, disgusted looks on their faces. Liam's father was one of the latter. 

"Come on," Louis said, tugging Harry at his arm to the sofas. 

"Don't you want to dance?" Harry asked, surprised. 

"Nah, I'm good," Louis answered. Harry took one last look at the merry people on the dance floor, then he followed Louis to the sitting area, where Louis was already lounging on a green sofa. 

"So, you never dance?" Harry asked, letting himself fall on an armchair next to Louis'. 

"No, I do dance from time to time, but not the kind of dances you were doing with what-was-her-name-again just now."

"Qitura."

"Yeah, right. Qitura."

"Well, do you even know how to dance that one?"

"No. And I have no intention whatsoever of learning it."

"But I could teach you," Harry said, jumping up again. "Please let me teach you. It will be fun."

"No."

"But why not?" Harry pouted.

"Because I don't want to make a fool of myself."

"You wouldn't make a fool of yourself, I promise."

"Yeah, no." 

Harry let his shoulders sag, looking back at the dancefloor, where a member of the council had now ordered the people to continue the waltz, the merry circle scattered across the dance floor. "Okay fine, but the steps are really quite easy." Harry let himself drop on the soft cushions again, watching Louis, who didn't react to Harrys words. 

"Is Niall forcing you really the only reason you came here tonight?" he asked.

Louis didn't answer at first, only staring at the wine in his cup. "No," he sighed. "You asked me." He stopped staring at the red liquid, lifting his gaze to meet Harrys. "And how could one ever say no to the Tsar of Russia? Especially if he has those dimples. Plus, when I saw the suit I knew how magnificent I would look in it, and I'm just not cruel enough to keep that sight from the people, you know? Me and this suit are simply too beautiful for that."

Harry smiled. "That's true. It would really have been a crime for the world not to see Louis Tomlinson like this. Then again, the world probably isn't even worth that."

Louis glanced at him and smiled: it was The smile, gradual and illuminating as sunrise, and Harry had the sinking feeling that his thoughts from earlier may not only had been the alcohol speaking.  
That maybe, Louis Tomlinson's smile had become his favorite in the whole world. 

_Shit._

He quickly forced his eyes to the ground, away from the crinkles at the corners of Louis' eyes. And why did he even notice those things? He shouldn't. He definitely shouldn't.

"Oh, I nearly forgot," Harry said, pulling a small box out of the pocket of his coat.  
That was a lie. He hadn't forgotten.  
"You said you didn't know how to eat caviar, so I thought you should try." 

"That was actually a joke, Dimples, but sure, why not?"

Harry gave him the small silver box and a fork lying on the table next to him. Louis took them and opened the box, revealing the tiny black orbs. He gave Harry a doubting look, then scooped a bit of it onto the fork. "I really don't want to eat that," he said. "They look like animal faeces. And aren't they like, baby fish?"

Harry jokingly rolled his eyes. "Just do it." Louis slowly took a few of the orbs in his mouth, making an exaggeratingly disgusted face. "Oh, come on, it's not that bad," Harry protested. 

"I'd take Niall's shitty borscht over this any day," Louis countered, spitting the Caviar in a napkin. 

"Well, at one point Russia had so much caviar that the Tsar sent a Western European counterpart a pound of black caviar and the European monarch, out of ignorance, instructed his cooks to boil it first."

"What an enthralling, suspenseful and fascinating story. I can barely retain myself out of excitement," Louis replied dryly. 

Harry chuckled. "I think you're like that European monarch."

"You can think whatever you want, but I'm never eating anything remotely shaped like balls ever again." Harry could barely contain his laughter after that, biting back the giggle rising in his throat. Louis' cheeks had turned slightly pink when he registered the words that had just come out of his mouth. "We will never speak of this again, Dimples," he muttered, but Harry could see that he was fighting back a grin as well.

"You're very dramatic, you know?" Harry said.

"Yes, I know, but don't tell me you're not dramatic as well. Only an extremely dramatic person would ever press flowers that some boy gave them years ago and keep them."

"I must object to that. That's not dramatic, that's merely someone with a hopelessly romantic soul, who has read too many fairy tales and novels in his lifetime and believes that flowers are very significant in one's life. In Greek mythology they saved people's lives more than once."

Louis took another gulp of his wine, which was nearing its end now. Harry pointed at a vase filled with bright flowers on the mahogany table between them. 

"A Greek myth tells of Hyacinthus, a beautiful young man of Sparta, who was deeply loved by the sun god Apollo. One day the two were amusing themselves, throwing a discus, when the discus struck Hyacinthus and killed him. Some legend suggests that Zephyrus, the god of the west wind, also loved Hyacinthus and blew the discus off course out of jealousy. Apollo did not let Hades claim Hyacinthus. Instead he created a beautiful flower from Hyacinthus' spilled blood, which he called the hyacinth." Harry softly touched the petals of that particular flower, remembering the day Volodya had first told him the story. 

"I don't really see the whole 'saving lives' part in that, but one thing is for sure: You are at least as dramatic as I am." They both quietly laughed. 

"Your majesty?" a familiar voice behind Harrys back suddenly asked. He turned around to see Liam standing there, a few people in tow. "I'm very sorry to interrupt your majesty, but I wanted to introduce you to Alexej Oblonski, his stunning wife Lady Darja, and their lovely daughter Lady Jekatarina Oblonski." He pointed at the people behind him, flashing them a bright smile.  
Oh, so this was what this was about. Another possible fiancée. Great. 

The girl curtsied and shyly smiled at him, tucking a strand of her strawberry-blonde hair behind her ear. Her father loudly introduced himself again, viciously shaking Harrys hand, while his wife quietly stood behind him, smiling at every word her husband said. The smile didn't look sincere, more like the painted smile of a puppet. 

All of them completely ignored Louis' presence, not even deigning to a small nod in his direction. At some point, Alexej did turn to him though, asking for his name.  
"Louis Tomlinson," Louis answered, playing with the cup in his hands. 

"Oh, are you from Europe then?" Alexej asked eagerly. 

"No, I'm afraid not so," Louis smiled politely. 

Alexej looked taken aback. "So, where do you come from then?"

"Russia, my lord. I work as a farmer." 

Liam quickly shot Harry an asking look, that clearly meant something like: _What the hell? What is he doing here?_  
Harry ignored him. 

Alexej was obviously asking himself something similar, as the smile on his face froze and he laughed bashfully. "Ah, alright. That's quite unusual isn't it?"

"Yeah, I suppose so," Louis answered. Alexej turned back to Harry and ignored Louis for the rest of the painfully long conversation. 

They now knew that they could not benefit from him in any way, so they didn't care about him. They did care about Harry a great deal though, making their intentions quite clear.  
Liam obviously had the same thing in mind, as he asked Harry if he wouldn't like to ask Lady Jekatarina for the next dance. 

Harry didn't want anything but to sit back down next to Louis, but with the look Liam was giving him, he knew he didn't really have a choice.  
As he led Jekatarina to the dance floor, he shot Louis an apologetic look, but Louis was just staring into his by now empty cup, looking rather lost and upset. Harry wanted to run back to him and tell him another bad joke so he could see him smile again, but he just led Jekatarina to the dance floor and took his position on the dancefloor. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see that Niall was also still dancing, the lady he had been talking to before teaching him the steps.  
He endured the dance, which seemed like it would go on forever, step after step, twirl after twirl. 

Jekatarina was happily talking to him, gossiping about members of the nobility, their scandalous affairs, their unfavourable chosen styling and not-so-subtlely asking Harry whether he already had wedding plans. 

Harry pretended to listen to her, while actually trying to keep an eye on the velvet sofas where he had left Louis, but small crowds of people were standing between them, blocking Harrys view. As soon as the music stopped, Harry was ready to hurry back, but Jekatarina grabbed his arm, asking if he wouldn't like another dance. 

"Please?" she pouted, jokingly sulking. Harry fought against the urge to roll his eyes, and instead gave her a short nod and forced smile. 

The only good thing about the entire routine was that Harry could watch Niall dance, who was always accidently stepping on the lady's toes and jokingly making silly pirouettes and splits. At one point, he twirled the lady he was dancing with across the whole dancefloor, the other couples making outraged noises. Harry had to laugh loudly, but Jekatarina only looked at them huffily. 

"I cannot believe some people do things like that. It's so disrespectful to the people who want to enjoy the proper dancing," she complained. 

"I think they are enjoying themselves quite well, my lady," Harry replied, to which Jekatarina pressed her lips tightly together and stopped speaking for the rest of the dance.  
Harry wasn't too sad about that. 

When the music finally stopped, both of them quickly hurried off the dance floor. Jekatarina was immediately asked for another dance by a young man already waiting for her, which she happily accepted. 

Harry tried to control his steps and not start running to the sofas. He pushed his way through the crowds of people, apologizing multiple times on the way. But when he reached the green velvet sofa, he found it empty. 

Only Niall was sitting on the armchair Harry had sat on before, his disheveled blond hair peaking out over the top, his skin sweaty from the dancing. He was eating the caviar Louis had left behind on the mahogany table. 

"Oh, hey," he said, scooping big forks full of the tiny eggs into his mouth. "Those things taste great. Thanks again for the invitation by the way, this ball is fucking incredible. I've learnt so many new things. Now I know that apparently people really love Vasily Zhukovsky's words and Mily Balakiervsi's music, and I also learnt how to do the waltz and the mazurka, which are actually a lot harder than they look. Oh, and turtle soups also tastes a lot better than the name would suggest."  
He scratched the remains of the caviar out of the box, his feet draped over the side of the chair. "I could really get used to this," he added, grinning up at Harry, his cheeks glowing in a slight pink, blue eyes sparkling, the golden light of the chandeliers turning his hair golden, almost making it look like a halo. 

Harry struck the thought that Niall looked like the sunflowers that he planted and reaped. Bright and yellow.  
Maybe he had spent so much time among those flowers, he had grown to become like them. 

And if Niall was a sunflower, Louis was a rose. Sharp and acute and almost achingly beautiful.  
Louis Tomlinson definitely had thorns, but instead of plunging, his thorns only made him more beautiful. In the way thorns made a rose all the more beautiful, making their petals seem even softer and more vivid. A fragile beauty that was actually anything but frail. 

Harry nearly hit himself as he found himself thinking those things. Oh god… what was wrong with him?  
He pinched the bridge of his nose and rapidly shook his head a few times, blaming it on the alcohol once more. 

"I'm very glad you're having a good time," he said to Niall, who had now moved on from the caviar, snatched a bowl of fruit from a passing servant's tray, picked out a few berries and stuffed them in his mouth. 

He grinned up at Harry. "I'm having an absolutely marvelous time." 

"Have you seen Louis? I left him here, and when I came back, he was gone."

Niall stopped chewing for one second, looking up at Harry, a mischievous smile on his face. "Oh yeah, I saw that. He didn't look too happy about you leaving him to dance with that lady." 

Harry could feel heat rising in his cheeks. "Um… I don't know… He was probably just tired. I mean, he didn't want to come here in the first place, so I can understand that he had enough," he stammered, avoiding looking at Niall. He could still see Niall's smile though. 

"Well, I don't know if it's strictly true that he didn't want to come here. He spent an awfully long time in his room trying on the suit you sent him. But yeah, he wasn't too happy about coming here." He picked another berry out of the bowl in his lap and put in in his mouth. "Well, I think I saw him leaving a few minutes ago." He tilted his head in the direction of the slightly ajar glass doors leading to the palace gardens behind him, that were concealed by light white curtains, slightly billowing in the faint breeze of the night air. 

"Thank you," he said gratefully to Niall, then he started steering towards the doors, passing merrily chatting people, the smoke of their cigarettes and pipes mingling with the cool air, the light of the chandeliers blazing and sparkling on their heavy jewelry. 

Harry made his way through them, excusing himself, saying he couldn't speak right now, wishing them a fabulous night. His eyes never left the glass doors though, until he finally reached them and quietly slipped outside, the night air cooling his heated skin. 

He was standing on a stone terrace, a few steps leading down to the palace gardens, everything illuminated by the silver moon in the sky and the golden light streaming out of the glass doors behind him. The golden and the silver light met halfway across the terrace on the grey stone, mingling to an undefinable rich colour.  
The chatter and music from the ballroom behind him were muffled and hushed in the night, as if the peaceful silence outside had laid a blanket over those noises, fading them to background sounds. 

"Hey," a voice next to Harry suddenly said and Harry turned around to see Louis sitting on a stone bench next to the doors, his head resting on the wall behind him, watching the sky and the neatly lined flowers of the palace gardens. 

"Hey," Harry answered. "What are you doing out here?"

"I needed some air. It's quite stuffy in there. What about you?"

"I was looking for you." Harry slowly sat down next to Louis on the stone bench, watching him out of the corner of his eyes. Louis was still looking at the view before him, but Harry could have sworn that he glanced at him for a moment as well, as Harry lowered himself on the stone. 

"It's beautiful out here," Louis murmured. Harry followed Louis' gaze to the flower patches and colourful fountains below them.

He smiled. "When I was younger, Volodya always said that there's nothing more beautiful in life than flowers, moonlight, good wine and even better company." 

He could see Louis' teeth shortly blaze in the light. "Well, we have it all then, don't we?" he asked. 

Harry smiled as well. "Yeah, we do." 

When he looked back at Louis, he was surprised to see Louis' head turned towards him, his eyes a tender and soft blue. "You're definitely good company," he whispered, his breath mingling with the air between them. "Even better than the wine and that really says a lot, trust me. The wine was fantastic, but I'd prefer your company any day of the week." 

Harry put his hand on his chest, touched. "Aw, Louis. Thank you so much, that really means a lot to me. That's the best compliment a boy could get. I will start crying if you continue to be so nice."

Louis grinned. "You're very welcome Dimples. What can I say? I'm very kind and generous." He spread his arms wide. "I give my love to the world."

Harry copied his gesture, spreading his arms as if he wanted to embrace the entire galaxy. "And the world gives it right back to you," he said solemnly.

"Yeah, maybe," Louis murmured and lowered his arms again. 

The orchestra had started playing a new melody now, the notes slower and heavier this time, even audible from the spot where they were sitting. Harry graciously stood up again, twirled around, and held out his hand to Louis. "May I have this dance?" he asked. 

Louis glanced up at him. "No."

"Oh please!" Harry begged. "There's no one here you could make yourself a fool in front of. Plus, we don't have to dance with the right steps, just do whatever you want." He made another aslope pirouette. "Please?" he asked once again, batting his eyelashes dramatically.

Louis laughed, shook his head, and then took Harrys hand. "Okay, fine. How could I ever resist those dimples?"  
Harry grinned, completely aware it made his dimples deepen significantly. 

He pulled Louis to his feet and led him a few steps to the side, until they were standing next to the balustrade to the gardens, the music slightly muffled but still loud enough.  
The moon- and candlelight were chasing each other on the ground. 

Louis' hand lay still and warm in Harrys, steady and solemn. It was callused from all the hard work in the fields, scratchy and rough, yet at the same time infinitely tender and soft. 

Harry placed his other hand on Louis' shoulder, and Louis placed his on Harrys waist. "Okay, so we'll try a simple waltz," Harry instructed. "You just have to follow my steps. And always remember the metre. One, two, three, four. One, two three, four." He started moving his feet to the music, Louis trying to follow him, intently looking at their in-sync moving feet. The tip of his tongue was sticking out from the corner of his mouth in concentration, his brows slightly furrowed.  
"Now stand upright. Chin high, back straight, shoulders back, chest out," Harry continued. 

"That's easier said than done, Dimples. I'm still trying not to step on your feet in case you haven't noticed." 

"Just try it." Louis did, and actually managed to follow Harry's steps. "See?" Harry smiled. "It's not that hard." As if to prove him otherwise, Louis stepped on one of Harrys black boots.

"That was intentional, wasn't it?" Harry asked. 

"You'll never know," Louis smiled smugly.

"I don't like this dance," Louis said after a while. "I want to dance without rules."

Harry looked at him. "How?" 

Louis started laughing. "That's exactly the point Dimples. No _how_ , just _doing_. That's exactly what 'without rules' means. Free."

Louis removed his hand from Harrys waist, instead also taking his other hand. He slowly started swaying from side to side, then he suddenly twirled Harry around. He had to stand on his tip-toes for that, so his arms wouldn't get in the way of Harrys head. Harry let out a surprised gasp and started breathlessly laughing. He copied the movement and spun Louis around, who was now also giggling. 

The music had gotten slower, and so had their dance, merely a tardy swaying of bodies, hands linked, arms around the other one's shoulders. 

A strand of brown hair had fallen on Louis' forehead, brushing his long eyelashes. Harry found himself wanting to tuck the strand behind his ear. But at the same time, he didn't want to let go of Louis' hands. 

He never wanted to let go.  
He felt like his and Louis' hands were part of the same body part, completing each other.  
He already feared the moment he would have to let go of them, leaving his fingers bare and naked. 

Harry was clearly and consciously aware of every spot where their bodies were touching, of how close their faces were to each other, their breaths mingling in the air between their mouths. Harry could feel the soft fabric of Louis's suit beneath his fingertips. 

They were so close now that Harry could see the tiny freckles on Louis' nose. Suddenly, he wanted to touch them. Wanted to connect the small freckles with invisible lines, wanted to brush his fingers against the insides of Louis' wrist, to feel the soft creases of his skin. Harry felt like there was an ache in his fingertips that could only be assuaged by touching him. 

He could feel Louis shift. He had the strangest feeling that Louis was as aware of Harry as Harry was of him. 

"Hey, Dimples?" Louis asked quietly. 

"Mmh?" Harry murmured.

"You invited me here, so I wanted to invite you too."

"Really? To what?"

"Our village celebrates Ivan Kupala next month. I don't know if you already have something planned, another fancy ball or other celebrations, but I would love for you to come. I know it's nothing like this- " He motioned to the glass doors leading to the golden ballroom "But it's usually a lot of fun." When Harry didn't reply, he added "You don't have to come if you don't want to, I just thought I'd ask."

"No, it's not that," Harry quickly protested. "It's just that… I don't know if that's possible. I mean, won't the people recognize me? I just…" He looked down at his feet. "I can't let that happen."

Louis slightly bent down, his eyes meeting Harrys. "Well, we don't have to tell them, do we?" He started batting his eyelashes pleadingly, the same way Harry had done when he had asked Louis to dance with him, coaxing a smile out of Harry. "Please?"

"I'd love to," Harry finally said, grinning. 

Ivan Kupala was a festivity celebrated at the end of June, in the warmest night of the year, the peak of summer. A mystical, yet still jolly celebration full of rituals, chants and legends. Harry had never celebrated it in a big way, only fulfilled the ritual of taking a bath, afterwards looking out of the palace windows, watching the burning bonfires in the far distance that the farmers lit on their fields. Sometimes Liam or his sister had joined him, and they had told each other old myths and legends while looking at the summer sky and the dancing people underneath it. 

"Great," Louis murmured, eyes fixed on Harry. 

They were surrounded by the golden light of the ballroom behind them, dimmed by the soft white curtains, hiding them from the world's eyes, the silver light of the moon above them, and at the same time swathed in the clear black of the night. Yet the only colours Harry could register was the blue of Louis' eyes, the red of his lips, the colour of his skin. 

The music reached its end, and for the first time this night, Harry wished it didn't. He never wanted the music to stop, never wanted to let go of Louis again. But it had gotten very late, well beyond midnight already. 

"I should go now," Louis whispered, eyes closed, his chin ever-so-slightly touching Harrys shoulder. 

"I know," Harry answered, his voice raspy. He cleared his throat and repeated the words. 

Louis hesitantly removed his hand from Harrys and took a step back, leaving Harry bare and exposed. Suddenly the air felt much colder than before, the moon losing some of its glow, as if it was disappointed. 

"Thank you for coming," Harry said, starting to fiddle with his rings again. 

"Thank you for inviting me … us," Louis replied. "I'll go look for Niall now. He has probably convinced all the guests to continue the dancing on the tables or to play hide-and-seek in the palace by now." 

Harry quietly chuckled. "Yeah, that's actually very likely."

Louis didn't move for a few seconds though, only watching Harry. "So… I'll see you in a few weeks?" he asked. 

Harry beamed back at him. "Yes, definitely."

"Great," Louis smiled back. 

Harry was lost in him. The radiance of his eyes kindled something in him that made him aware he had passed his life in a haze of half-living, at best half-feeling.  
But without him, he felt even more lost. 

Suddenly, the cold luxury of the palace behind him seemed scary and intimating. 

They gave each other one last quiet smile. When Louis turned to leave, slowly walking to the glass doors, Harry didn't follow him. 

Instead, he sat down on the stone steps leading down to the flower patches, pulled his legs up to his chest, and rested his chin atop his knees.  
He could hear the quiet chatter, laughing, and the clinking of glass behind him, but he didn't go back inside. A small smile was still tugging at the corners of his mouth. The moon shone, round as a pearl, turning the stone statues scattered throughout the garden silver and the flower fields into soft expanses of light. 

Minutes -or maybe hours- passed. Harry hardly noticed, time went by so quietly, as if someone had laid out the carpet of the night to muffle time's footsteps. He did not register anything but his own thoughts, until he felt a soft touch on his shoulder. He didn't need to turn around to know who was standing behind him, but he did anyway, smiling up at Liam.

"Hey," he muttered quietly.

Liam lowered himself on the stone steps next to him. "Hey. Why aren't you inside?"

Harry shrugged, his chin slightly wobbling on his knees. "I like it out here."

"Did you enjoy the ball?"

"You did a great job organizing it."

"That doesn't answer my question." They both didn't look at each other, merely watching the flowers bathed in moonlight. "Who were those two boys?"

"Friends of mine."

"I could tell that much." He hesitated for one second. "They were very nice."

Harry couldn't help but smile again. "Yes, they are very nice."

"Harry?"

"Mmh?"

"Do you remember that time we discovered those blue flowers growing on the palace grounds and you plucked one of them?"

Harry turned his head to look at Liam, his brows slightly furrowing. "No, when was that?"

"I think we were about six or seven. It was shortly before your mother and sister- Before it happened. You said those flowers reminded you of someone special and that one day you'd show them to him."

Harry didn't reply. He could now blurrily remember that day, the beautiful blue flowers that kindled something inside of him, a memory, a sunny day.

"That someone… was that him?" Liam asked.

Harry kept his chin rested on his knees. Both of them didn't say anything for a while.

"He's definitely very special," Harry said after a few heartbeats.

"That also doesn't answer my question, but that's okay. I trust you to do the right thing."

Harry didn't know what the right thing was, but that feeling in his stomach when he had seen Louis entering the ballroom, when he had danced with him, couldn't be anything wrong, could it? Not when it felt so right. 

"How did you enjoy your night?" Harry asked, glancing at Liam.

"He may not be an asshole," Liam replied, his voice sounding strangely strained. "He may not be an asshole at all. Just a very good chess player."

"I trust you to do the right thing."

Liam laughed at that, quietly, as if not to disturb the peaceful sounds of the night. He put his arm around Harrys shoulders, pulling them towards him. Harry rested his head on Liam's shoulder. 

"We always do in the end, don't we?" Liam smiled.

"You do. I don't always."

"That's not true, Harry. I don't always make the right choices. Trust me, I'm really bloody terrified most of the time."

"But you make the right choices in the end."

"I'm pretty sure that if Volodya was here now, he'd say something in the vain of 'There are no right or wrong choices, only ones you regret and ones you don't, but that doesn't make them wrong, only your life a great deal more interesting.'"

Harry smiled. "I'm actually quite sure he has already said that at least once."

"I know. I was there. He said it the day you first took me with you to see him. I was always so scared of him. I'd obviously never admit to it, but I always felt like… I don't know… Like his eyes could see into the depths of my soul. As if he knew all the dark corners of my heart, all my doubts and fears, with just one look. That scared me, I suppose."

"Does _he_ make you feel like that as well?" Harry murmured. "Like he can see into your heart, see every single crack and broken part?"

He could feel Liam swallow next to his ear. "Yeah, maybe. And it bloody terrifies me."  
He slightly turned his head to glance at Harry, who was still resting his head on his shoulder. 

"I know the feeling."

"Shit, Harry. We're absolutely fucked, aren't we?"

"Yes. I think we are."

They stayed like that for a long time, the guests starting to leave, the sun slowly rising behind the red walls of the Kremlin, blushing the clouds to a cotton-candy pink, the moon becoming paler and paler, eventually giving way to the light of the next day. But they didn't move, each lost in their own sorrows, fears, and dreams.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!
> 
> Sorry that this chapter was so long, I hope you made it through. Since it is so long, I also have a lot of song inspirations, so sorry for the long list, but here it is: 
> 
> "Blue velvet" and "Bel air" by Lana del Rey; for the Louis' and Harrys dance on the terrace "Give me love" by Ed Sheeran and "O children" by Nick Cave, and for Liam and Harrys talk "Light" by Sleeping at last. Oh, and also Ed Sheeran's "Tenerife sea" for the whole chapter.
> 
> The dance scene from "Anna Karenina" was also an inspiration for this chapter, mainly the ballroom dancing.
> 
> Anyway, thank you for reading and I hope you have a wonderful day/night! :)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> About dainty towers and horrible fathers.

"It's way too hot for Russia. Why is it so goddamn hot?" Liam complained and loosened his collar to let the skin there be cooled by the barely existing breeze. 

"When it's winter again and every day is dark and miserable you will complain about the lack of sunshine and warmth, I know that," Harry said and grinned. 

Liam scowled at him. "I will not. I will welcome the cold and the snow with open arms."

"You say that every year. Plus, it's not that warm. Just ask our guests, they're used to much higher temperatures. Speaking of-" He nudged his head in the direction of the lawn, where Prince Zayn and his sister were lying on their backs, a colorful quilt spread underneath them. 

Their eyes were closed and their black hair gleamed in the bright sun. A basket filled with countless of exotic fruits was standing beside them, and a violin player was sitting on a small chair and fiddling with his instrument, the sounds filling the walls of the Kremlin and floating to Liam and Harry, who were sitting on a big stone balcony on the first level of the giant palace, drinking iced water to cool their heated blood and skin. 

"They look like the heat doesn't bother them even the slightest when it is absolutely killing us up here. Apparently, this is the warmest summer ever measured in Moscow. I know that doesn't say a lot, but still...- Liam?"

Liam winced and turned to Harry. "What?" He sounded slightly breathless. 

Harry glanced down at the rich green grass Liam had stared at before. He smirked and raised his eyebrows. "Are you enjoying the panorama?" 

Liam just rolled his eyes and bit into one of the Pirozhkis which were standing on a tray between them. His ears had turned pink. 

"I hate you," he mumbled through the pastry in his mouth. 

Harry chuckled. "You love me." Liam didn't comment on that. 

A bird landed on the railing of the balcony and eagerly eyed the pastries. Harry tore of a few crumbs and threw them in the bird's direction. 

_A swallow_ , he thought. He had read a book in the library once about the different kinds of birds once. The swallow had been his favorite picture to look at.  
He remembered admiring its grey-blue feathers and showing the picture to Liam.

"You shouldn't feed it, or it'll never leave you alone again," Liam said. 

"Maybe I don't want it to leave me alone. A swallow would be a fantastic friend and companion for life. They would never leave you." The bird cleaned its glossy-blue feathers and then cocked its head, looking at Harry impatiently, as if it wanted to tell him to hurry up. Harry threw it another piece of pastry. 

"Did you know that swallows are the only birds that mate for life?" Harry asked. "Swallow pairs travel huge distances only to find their way back home to each other."  
He watched the bird pick up the crumbs with its beak.

"I'm sadly not a bird observer, so no, I didn't know that. But I do know that if you keep feeding it, it'll never leave you alone and trust me, you don't want that." As if it had heard Liam's words, the swallow flew away, becoming a small blue fleck on an even bluer sky. 

Liam turned around to Harry, leaning against the railing of balcony. Harry stood up and rested his arms on the railing next to Liam. They both looked at the ground below them. 

The music had stopped now. The youngest sister, Zarah, was running around on the grass, playing with her dolls, Qitura was still lying on her back, soaking up the sunlight.  
Zayn had opened a book and was reading it with great interest, from time to time picking a grape from the fruit basket and slowly pushing it in his mouth.  
Every time he took another grape, he eyed the basket intently first, inspecting the fruits before he finally picked out one that looked exactly like all the other ones. A giant parasol had been set up on the grass next to them, its shadow stretching across the grass. Their guard was standing a few paces away and watching them. 

"I wonder what it's like where they come from. How warm do you think it is?" Liam murmured.

"Warmer than here, that's for sure. You could just ask _him_ about it, you know?"

"So, what are your plans for today?" Liam abruptly changed the subject. 

"I'm going to the market," Harry replied.

"Why? It's the hottest day of the year. Oh, and please take at least two guards with you this time. Three would be ideal."

Harry didn't want to admit why he wanted to go to the market on the red square. He was hoping to see Louis again. Him and Niall were probably selling their flowers there and Harry hadn't seen them in nearly a week. Ivan Kupala was in a few nights already, but Harry just couldn't wait any longer. He had spent the last five days since the ball signing papers, organizing his coronation and eating meals with counts and their daughters. Now he wanted to feel free again. 

"I don't know. I just really like markets." 

Liam raised his eyebrows. He knew, of course. 

***

The antsy hustling of the vendors, the screaming of the merchants, the laughing of children and the excited voices of the shoppers created a noise that sounded like the buzzing of a large beehive. The bronze statues of Kuzma Minin and Dmitry Pozharsky, who helped to clear Moscow from the Polish invaders in 1612, were watching over the emboss on the red square. 

Harry was flanked by three guards who were cleaving through the crowd, making space for him. The people were watching him as he strolled by, whispering to each other after he had passed them. Harry tried to keep his head high and ignore those hushed whispers. 

The air smelled of vodka, smoke and warm pastries and the merchants were loudly praising their products. Just another day in Moscow. 

Harry spend some time at the stand of an old woman selling Pirozhkis and fresh bread. He gave her a generous amount of money, a lot more than the pastries were actually worth. She invited him to stay a little bit longer and look at her other goods, but he kindly rejected the offer, telling the woman he was looking for someone. After he asked her, she pointed out the way to the flower stand. As Harry walked away, his guards leading the way, he could feel the woman's curious gaze in his neck. 

Niall and Louis' stand was tiny, even in comparison to the all the other small ones on the square. It consisted of nothing but a small wooden table, flowers in every shade of the rainbow standing in vases on a red tablecloth. 

As Harry slowly approached the table, he could make out Niall's broad grin as he handed over a small bouquet of daffodils to a young boy. When he looked up, spotting Harry in the crowd, he started waving at him, forgetting to take the coins the boy was offering him who recognized his chance and quickly ran away, disappearing into the crowd. Niall didn't even notice. 

Louis, who was standing next to Niall, his back turned to Harry, seemed to make a half-hearted attempt at following the boy, but quickly gave up as he saw Niall greeting Harry.  
He turned around, a surprised look on his face when his eyes spotted Harry among the mass of people and a smile lit up his face. It was like sunrise. 

Harry couldn't repress a smile as well, the thought of Louis smiling because of him being here making his insides warm and tingly, as if someone had lit a fire inside of his stomach.  
Louis tilted his head slightly to the side, his eyes glinting, and motioned for Harry to come over. 

"Harry!" Niall exclaimed as Harry walked towards them. "What are you doing here? Do you want to buy some flowers? Or potatoes.. We also have potatoes." He pointed at a small basket filled to the rim with potatoes. "Don't ask why."

"Why?" He could hear Louis clear his throat next to him, staring at the basket. 

Niall gave Louis a small grin. "When we were little, Lou here woke up one day and decided that we should stop growing poppies, and instead something else in its place. He just opened his eyes one morning and made up his mind that poppies shouldn't be grown on our farm anymore. He crossed his arms and told our parents that instead, we should start planting sugar beets or turnips. He said it had to be something ugly. And when they asked him why, he only said _'We can't grow that many flowers next to each other. There needs to be something different among them. That's what makes them so pretty. You need darkness to see the stars and thorns make roses beautiful. I'm only trying to help.'_ For the rest of the day, he locked himself in our room and refused to come out again, until our parents agreed to grow something different amongst the fields of flowers. He was way too stubborn even back then." 

Louis gave Niall a short slap on the back of his head. Harry looked at him. "Where did you get that from? That idea with the flowers?"

The corners of Louis' mouth twitched. "Why? Does it sound familiar?"

"Volodya once said something similar."

"Well, he's also the one who gave me the idea. He visited our parents the night before that and I heard him say it, and it sounded reasonable."

There was a brief pause, before Niall sighed "Well, that's the reason why we also sell potatoes. Because Louis has always been way too stubborn and loutish."

"What are you doing here, your majesty?" Louis changed the subject, raising his eyebrows slightly, the smile still playing on his lips.

Harry sauntered a few steps to the table and inspected the flowers on top of it. "I thought the palace could use some flowers. I'm just here to take a look at your selection and debate whether they would be fitting for the royal chambers or not." He gently let the tips of his fingers caress the petals of a sunflower, the texture soft and silky under his touch. 

Louis slightly leaned against the side of the table next to him and picked up a rose. "And have you already come to a conclusion your majesty?"

This little game made Harrys insides flutter again. "I'll take all of them."

Louis looked up from the rose, his eyes widening. "What?"

"I said I'll take all of them." 

"Harry-"

Harry only smiled at him and motioned for his guards to heave the heavy bouquets onto a barrow they had brought with them. Harry pulled a satchel full of coins out of a pocket of his raiment and placed it on the now empty wooden table. Louis gaped at him, his mouth slightly opened. "No, we can't-"

"Believe me. You can. Please take the money. Those beautiful flowers are actually worth so much more than that."

Before Louis could reply, Niall had already snatched the satchel off the table and thrown his arms around Harrys neck. "Thank you so much, Harry. That's more money than we usually make in three months." 

Harry gently disenthralled himself from Niall's embrace and looked at the ground. "It's really nothing. I could give you more if you want to…"

"No," Louis quickly intervened, taking a step forward. "No, that's more than enough."

Before he could say anything else, Harry held out the small bag of pastries he had bought from the old woman before. "Are you hungry?"

Niall immediately pulled out a piece of bread and put it in his mouth. "Thank you so much. I felt like I was starving. Those towers somehow always make me hungry."

Harry pointed at the colorful onion towers of the St. Basil cathedral, a grand building which reminded Harry of a flame rising into the sky. "The St. Basil cathedral makes you hungry?"

Niall shrugged and swallowed his pastry. "I don't know, but the towers look very dainty. Like the sweets my parents sometimes used to buy us when we had sold a lot that day."

"Has anyone ever told you how strange you are Niall?" Louis asked and also ripped a piece of bread from the loaf. 

"You do all the time," Niall grinned. 

"Hold on!" Louis suddenly exclaimed, pointing at one of the guards who had now finished loading the flowers onto the barrow. "My old friend! It's so nice seeing you again!" It was the guard from the gates a few weeks before who had refused to let Louis inside. He was already rolling his eyes again, otherwise ignoring Louis. "I see you've been promoted from the gates to purveyor. Congratulations are in order!" The guard still didn't acknowledge Louis' presence, only slightly turning away from him, his face turning red with annoyance. 

"Well, apparently we won't become bosom companions as I had hoped for," Louis said, pretending to wipe a tear from the corner of his eye. 

Niall slung an arm around Louis' and Harrys necks, who were leaning against the table on either side of him.  
"Well, you already have the best bosom companions one could ever ask for, don't you Louis Tomlinson?"

The guard looked like he wanted to say something, but then quickly bethinked himself and closed his mouth again. 

The sun was blazing on the dainty onion towers and bronze statues, the buzzing of the vendors blending with the sound of their chewing, and the air smelled of smoke and pastries. It was just another day in Moscow, and for the first time, Harry Styles actually had part in it. Only one more of all the small ants on the ground, hustling and shuffling along. 

It felt great. 

***

"He demanded to see you."

"But- why? The doctor said the illness may be contagious…"

Yegor only gave a little shrug. "I'm only saying what I was told to."

Harry hesitantly closed the book he had been reading in and lifted from the armchair he was seated in. He left the palace library, walked to his father's chambers and softly knocked at the ornate doors. 

His father's voice immediately demanded that he entered, sounding brittle, yet still authoritarian. Harry swallowed and peaked around the edge of the door, seeing his father seated in his bed, a cigarette in his hand. Harry furrowed his brows at that, certain that it wasn't advisable to be smoking in his father's state, though it seemed to be a good day if his father was able to sit upright. 

The illness had clearly taken a big toll on him. There was a gauntness to his face, a grey undertone to his pallor, and then there was the shallow way he breathed, as if trying to stave off a coughing fit. 

Vladimir's gaze followed his sons to the cigarette in his hand and gave a short grunt. "Don't look at me like that, son. I can do whatever I want now, it won't make any difference. I will die either way." He motioned for Harry to sit down in the armchair next to his bed and Harry did as he was told. 

"You shouldn't talk like that father, there is always hope." Harry knew his words were a lie and so did Vladimir. 

"Bullocks. I will die, but that's fine, because I will be seeing your mother and sister again, something I have been craving for a long time. I miss them every second of my life. Sometimes, I feel like they are still next to me, like I can hear your mothers laugh in the air, see your sister's hair shining in the sunlight. They have been gone for a very long time now, and they took something of me with them when they left, just like your brother did." He took a long drag of his cigarette and offered it to Harry who shortly hesitated before taking the offered cigarette and also taking a drag. "We depart when god wants us to and my time has come, so I will accept my fate with open arms." 

He was shaken by a strong coughing fit and Harry could see a speck of blood on the handkerchief his father held to his mouth. "Harry, I need to ask you about something. The people have been… talking. I have been hearing some things and I want to know if there is any truth to them. I know you will be honest with me, won't you?"

He looked Harry in the eye, his gaze piercing and probing. Harry felt the urge to swallow but fought the need under his father's eyes. "Yes, of course father," he stammered. 

"Good… very good. You are a good boy Harry, you know that, don't you? You have always been a good boy." He gave a short huff. "Your sister, she was a little rebel. Never did what she was told, but I loved her for it." He softly shook his head, chuckling, until he took another drag of his cigarette and beat the ash into an ash-tray on the nightstand and became quiet again. "So, Harry. As I was saying, I have been hearing some things. Ljewin has told me about two strangers attending the ball last week. He said you spent quite a lot of time with one of them in particular, leading you to neglect your duties as host." 

Harrys throat felt constricted and painful, his palms had gotten sweaty. 

"Who were those boys, Harry?"

Harry swallowed heavily. "They are friends of mine."

"Friends of yours you say? Where did you meet them?"

"They… they are farmers. They grow flowers on the countryside."

"Mmh… I understand. From what I've heard, they are lovely boys, but do you think that it is appropriate for the future Tsar of Russia to spend his time with two poor farmer boys, by god, even invite them to a royal ball in the palace?"

"I… I don't know, father. I wouldn't know why not." Harrys chest tightened further and further and he was fighting the urge to fiddle with his rings, knowing it would enrage his father even more. But the strange thing was that his father didn't seem enraged at all. On the contrary, he was speaking in a cold and collected tone, though Harry could hear the heat and anger boiling below that. 

"Well, let me educate you. It is not. It is not suitable for you to be running around with those people. You will rule this empire soon and I don't want you to make me doubt my heir, my successor, _my son_. Blood is thicker than water and you need to understand that our blood is not like theirs." He vaguely pointed to the windows which were covered by curtains, leading to the city and the country below. "Do you understand that?"

Harry clenched his hands to fists, his fingernails painfully digging into his palms. "Yes. I understand."

His father leaned back into his pillows again. "Good."

There was a long pause, in which Vladimir lit another cigarette. "I know you've always had strange… _penchants_ in regards to pleasure, and I have always kept my mouth shut, but I cannot allow my only living son to give people reasons to talk about him, to think about him in a certain way. I only want what is best for you, you know that, don't you?"

Harry gave a small nod and stared at the ornaments on his father's bed, focusing on a small golden flower stitched into the linen of his blanket. 

"I don't want my final act as the Tsar of Russia to be a new visitor of the Vasilevsky Spusk." Harrys heart skipped a beat as he took in his father's words. The Vasilevsky Spusk was the area behind St. Basil cathedral where public executions were carried out. 

Harry felt sick. He stared at his father in rage. 

Vladimir seemed unbothered by this, only calmly saying "Stop fiddling with your rings, Harry. It bespeaks insecurity and tentativeness. How many times have I told you that?"

"Too many times, father," Harry pressed between his clenched teeth. 

"Yes, too many times." He waved in the direction of the doors. "You are free to go now."

Harry immediately leaped to his feet and hurried to the exit, but his father called after him, "Oh, and Harry?"

Harry closed his eyes for one second, his back still facing the bed. He didn't turn around. "Yes, father?"

"I don't want you to ever forget what I just told you. I trust you, Harry. Don't make me regret that decision and do not force me to see your mother again knowing that I have failed her in raising you. Do not disappoint me, or her."

Harry stared at his palms, where painful, red crescents had formed from pressing his nails into them. "Yes, father."

With that, Harry quickly closed the door behind him, loosed a breath he didn't realise he had been holding, and started racing through the palace until he had reached an empty corridor, slid down the wall and rested his forehead against his knees, tears wetting the fabric of his trousers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello again! 
> 
> I didn't listen to a lot of songs while writing this, but the ones I did listen to were Pink Floyds "Wish you were here" and "Blue skies" by Willie Nelson and also "Helplessly Hoping" by Crosby, Stills Nash.
> 
> Alright, thank you again so much for reading, it really means a lot to me :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "He stepped down, trying not to look at her, as if she were the sun, yet he saw her like the sun, even without looking."  
> \- Leo Tolstoi, "Anna Karenina"

Harry looked out the carriage window, the endless fields taking him back to the day he'd traveled this way with Volodya and then, so many years later, with Niall. 

The sun had already started to set, casting the landscape in a soft orange. He could make out the village in the distance, the steeple from the small church rising in the air. 

The carriage came to an abrupt stop and the driver opened the door for Harry to step out. 

They were standing on the muddy street leading to the village, the farm house only a few paces away. Harry thanked the coachman and told him to return to the Kremlin. He threw Harry a strange look, obviously wondering what the crown prince was doing in the middle of nowhere during the night, no guards at his side. But he still followed Harrys command, probably eager to get home to his family and celebrate Ivan Kupala himself. 

There was always something miraculous about this day. No one slept at night, since it was believed that all evil crawled out from the shadows, trying to cause the humans as much harm as they possibly could. Yet the holiday was still a cheerful one, rituals, pranks and divination delighting the people of Russia.

Harry started walking toward a bare field, approaching a brightly burning bonfire he could make out in it.  
Around it, people were happily cheering, eating, and drinking from wooden cups. A group of little girls was sitting on one of the tree stems surrounding the fire. They were binding small crowns made of sticks, flowers and grass to let them float down the river later in the night. 

One of the girls beamed up at him,and happily waved at him, her black locks jumping up and down on her shoulders. Harry smiled and waved back. The little girl motioned for him to come over and asked,"Who are you?"

Before Harry could give her an answer, a voice behind him answered her question. "This is Edward, a good friend of mine. He's here to visit Niall and me."

Harry turned around to see Louis standing there, his silhouette dark against the bright fire, making his skin glow. "Edward, this is Slava, a little jackanapes." 

Slava giggled and protested, "I am not!". Louis walked up to her and pinched her nose with his fingers, making her giggle even harder. Slava wanted to jump up and hunt Louis around the grassland, but a woman with the same black locks as her called from the other side of the fire, "Slava, finish your girth! If you don't know how to do it, let one of the other girls help you!" Slava started pouting and resumed her work on the herbs and sticks. Harry winked in her direction, coaxing another giggle out of her. She reminded Harry a lot of the Emirs little daughter, Zarah. 

He turned to Louis, the heat and radiance of the fire burning next them, making their skin warm and glowing. 

"Hey," Louis smiled. 

"Hey," Harry smiled back. 

"I'm glad you came." 

"Thank you for inviting me." 

"Likewise."

Suddenly an arm slung around Harrys neck and as he turned his head, he could see Niall's blond halo next to him, glowing orange in the light of the flames. "Happy Ivan Kupala, your majesty," he said and handed him a cup filled with a strangely smelling liquid. When he saw the questioning look on Harrys face, his brows furrowed. "Wait… have you never drunk Medovukha? And you call yourself our Tsar? I cannot believe this!" he cried. 

"Shh!" Louis cut in, speaking in a lowered voice. "We don't want everyone here to know that the Tsar of Russia has joined us in our festivities tonight."

" _Future _Tsar," Harry corrected absentmindedly and stared at the drink in his hands.__

"Go on!" Niall told him, motioning to the cup. 

Harry had to smirk, remembering a story Volodya once told him. "Do you know the story about how Prince Vladimir chose the religion for Russia?" 

Niall jokingly rolled his eyes. "No, but I'm sure I will shortly." 

Louis was just watching him, his eyebrows slightly raised, a smile playing on his lips. 

"According to the story, he decided to give up paganism and held auditions to choose a religion for his empire. The envoys sent to Kiev by the major religions each expounded on their faith and what was forbidden in it. The prince rejected Islam because of the prohibition of wine, saying _'Drink is Russia's ancient glee, without it we cannot be._ '" 

Niall clapped his hands and said, "Great story, now drink please." 

Harry did, taking a small gulp of the thick liquid. It ran smoothly down his throat, leaving a soft feeling and the taste of honey in its wake. He lowered the cup again, revealing the expectant faces of Niall and Louis. Harry immediately took another large swing and broadly grinned at them. "Where have you and this drink been all my life?" 

The others started laughing, clapping their hands and cheering. Niall grabbed him by the arm, pulling him to the smaller fires burning around the large one. "Now drink up and dance!" he yelled and emptied his cup in one large swing. 

Harry copied his gesture, feeling the alcohol loosen every restraint and doubt in his body one by one, washing away his father's words that had been echoing in his head for days. 

He joined the villagers in their dance around the fires, everyone jumping over them, one after the other. With each passing minute, he could feel more and more people's eyes on him, whispering behind their hands as they started wondering who this mysterious stranger who seemed so oddly familiar was, but he didn't care. They could gossip and talk about him all they wanted, he just wanted to dance with them. 

As he was twirling with all of them across the grassland, the heat of the bonfires, the warm summer breeze, the alcohol, making him feel infinitely light and weightless, he could always feel their eyes on him. But there was only one pair of eyes he cared about- Louis' eyes, even warmer than the fire between them, making him feel naked and exposed, but in the best way. He couldn't help but blush as he risked a brief glance at him and found him staring back. They both quickly looked at the ground, smiling like little kids caught in doing something forbidden. 

Harry felt as if someone had also lit a bonfire inside his chest, making him feel warm and crackling. Louis kept glancing at him as they danced with various villagers, the fire mirroring in his eyes. 

They both jumped over the fire, Louis' hands at his waist keeping him from stumbling on the other side. Niall jumped the highest out of every one of the whole village, guaranteeing him good luck for the following year. He celebrated by doing another high jump in the air and emptying another cup of his drink. 

Suddenly Harry felt a soft pressure at his waist, and he was swept away into someone's arms as they whisked him back into the ring of dancing. He laughed so hard he thought he'd combust, and when he opened his eyes, he saw Louis there, spinning him round and round. Everything became a blur of colour and sound, just like it had during the ball in the palace, and Louis was the only object in it, tethering him to sanity, to his body, which glowed and burned in every place he touched. Harry felt like he was filled with sunshine. It was like he had never experienced summer before, like he'd never known what hot summer nights felt like, only waiting for them to fade again, giving way to ice and snow. 

If his and Louis' tardy dance in the palace had felt like moonlight, this one was a bathing in sunlight and summer. 

He was cackling happily, dancing with nearly every one of the villagers, quickly learning the unfamiliar steps, not wasting a thought on anything else. 

After a while, when he couldn't even feel his feet anymore, having danced for what felt like hours but at the same time mere minutes, he sat down on a log next to Niall, who was staring into the flames that were reflecting in his eyes. "Why aren't you dancing anymore?" Harry asked, still grinning, as he lowered himself next to him. 

"Probably for the same reason as you. My feet are burning as if someone had held them into those flames." He nodded in the direction of the fire before them. "And I was thinking." 

"About what?" 

Niall didn't respond for a few heartbeats, only staring into the dancing flames.  
"He likes you. He really really likes you." 

Suddenly it was as if the alcohol vanished from his veins, as if someone had spilled a bucket of ice-cold water over his head. "What?" 

Niall ignored his question. "And on one hand, I know that I should talk him out of it, because I know this can't end well, but at the same time… How could I ever do that? How could I ever be such a friend, such a brother, that I talked him out of the one thing that really makes him happy?" He finally looked at Harry, his eyes glowing, yet somehow sad. "You make him happy Harry. You really do."  
He gave a short and quiet laugh, turning back to the flames. "But I guess it doesn't matter anyway. He's way too stubborn to listen to anyone. Even though I'm sure he already knows all of that and just doesn't care."<

Harry didn't know what to say, so he just watched the dancing people around them; watched Louis, who was slowly spinning an elderly woman with white hair around, making her merrily giggle like a little girl. The sight made Harry smile as well. 

Niall followed his gaze and said, "He's really kind, you know? He's the best friend, or brother, or whatever, you could wish for." A grin slowly spread on his face. 

"When I was four years old, I really wanted to find a four-leaved clover, it was my biggest wish. I went out into the forest nearly every day to find one, so I could wish for something, but I never did. I would spend hours searching the grass for one, but I somehow never got lucky. It even went that far that I came home one evening and started sobbing because I still hadn't found one. The next day, Louis came up to me, held out his hand, and told me he had found a four-leaved clover for me. I was so happy, I hugged him and thanked him a hundred times, but he just said now I could find a new obsession and didn't have to annoy everyone with that stupid thing anymore."  
They both smiled at that, at something so typical for Louis to say. "But when I took a closer look at it, I saw something strange under one of the leaves."  
Niall was now fully laughing, his eyes shining bright. "He had spent an entire day in the forest looking for a four-leaved clover, but he also didn't find one, so he took a normal one and our fathers paste, and simply glued another leaf next to others, so it looked like it had four."  
They were now both laughing. "He spent so much time looking for that stupid clover and then he spent so much time piecing it together, but in the end, I guess it was all worth it, because I was so happy about that three-leaved clover. It was so much better than any four-leaved one in the world."  
Their giggling ebbed off, leaving only small smiles on their lips. "I guess what I'm trying to say is: Louis really cares about the people he loves, so much he would do anything for them and he doesn't care for himself anymore, sacrificing himself only for their happiness and I just don't want him to get hurt. Either of you two." 

His father's voice echoed in his head, but Harry pushed the thoughts aside, taking another gulp from his cup. Before he could respond to Niall, he felt a soft tap on his shoulder. He turned around and saw Slava, the little girl from before, standing there, a wreath of herbs and flowers on top of her black locks. In her small hands she held another one, nervously playing with one of the pink blossoms plaited into it. 

"I made you a crown," she said, holding out the wreath to him. "Normally only the girls wear one, but your hair is so pretty I thought you should have one as well." 

A bright smile spread across Harrys face as he took the wreath from Slavas hands.  
He was so touched by the gift, his eyes started stinging. "It's absolutely stunning, Slava. Thank you so much." He looked at the netting of grass, sticks, herbs, and soft, pink blossoms. 

"Put it on," she instructed. 

Harry did, slowly lowering the flower crown on his head. "How do I look?" he asked, pulling a grimace. 

Slava giggled and pulled a funny face as well, her tongue stuck out and her eyes squinting.  
She sat down next to him, and looked up at him. "Can I ask you something?" she whispered, leaning closer to him. 

Harry leaned down to her as well. "Of course." 

"Everyone is saying that you are actually a prince. Is that true?" 

"Yes, I'm afraid it is. But you mustn't tell anyone. It's a secret." 

Slava's eyes widened in excitement. "But then you already have a crown, don't you?" 

"Yes, I do. But I like this one much more." He pointed at the small wreath on his head. 

The little girl beamed back at him. "I need to go now. Everyone is looking for the magic fern, but I promise your secret is safe with me." She pretended to lock her lips with a key and throw it over her shoulder. 

Harry smiled at her. "I knew I could trust you. Thanks again for the crown." 

"No problem! Don't forget to let it swim on the water later!" she shouted over her shoulder as she ran back to her mother and the other villagers who were now slowly entering the forest to look for the magic fern bloom, a miraculous fiery flower that bloomed only in the night of Ivan Kupala, and which could point to any hidden treasure and grant whoever found it a wish. 

"We should go too," Niall said, already rising from the log. 

"I think I'll stay for a while longer," Harry murmured. "I'll find you later." 

Niall shortly hesitated, before he shrugged and said: "Suit yourself. Maybe I'll find my four-leaved clover now that I jumped the highest over the fire." He gave Harry one last smile before following the other villagers in the direction of the line of trees. 

"Nice crown," a voice behind Harry suddenly said, making him slightly wince. 

"Sorry, I didn't want to scare you," Louis apologized as Harry turned around to him. 

"You didn't." 

"Walk?" Louis suggested, offering his hand. Harry felt warm and it wasn't from the bonfire burning beside him. He nodded and took Louis' outstretched hand, pulling him to his feet.  
"I want to show you something," Louis smiled and started walking toward the edge of the forest, not after the other villagers, but the far line of trees next to the farm house. 

They crossed the meadow and entered the forest, traipsing wordlessly through the woods, letting the sounds of the sleeping forest wash over them. Screeches of night birds, skitters of insects, the hush of the wind through fluttering leaves, the soft crunch of grass and twigs beneath their feet. This night the forest felt safe. Or maybe it was simply that Harry felt invincible. Soon, the merry chatter and music from the people staying at the bonfire faded away, replaced by the sighing of trees in the night breeze. 

"Where are we going?" Harry asked, stepping over a rock on the ground. 

Louis turned around and mischievously smiled at him, his eyebrows raised. "You'll see." 

"This forest reminds me of the fairy tales and stories my mother used to tell me when I couldn't sleep. Stories about the Baba Yaga and the firebird. I wouldn't be surprised if there was a walking house on chicken legs behind this tree." 

"How was she? Your mother?" 

"She was… kind. She loved me and my sister. She really did. But she wasn't… strong. She didn't stand up to our father, she was scared of him, but she also loved him. I really think she did love him." This reminded Harry of the talk with his father again, so he rapidly shook his head and tried to erase those thoughts from his mind. He didn't want to think about that right now. He never wanted to think about it. 

"I'm sorry...that they… for your loss." 

"Oh, thank you. You too. I mean, you've also lost your parents." 

"Yeah, all four of them." Harry nervously laughed, not sure if it was meant to be funny or not. "But at least Niall's parents left us with something, my parents didn't leave me anything but a blanket. Thanks to Niall's parents we have a beautiful flower farm. I mean, it's an incredible amount of work, but I love it." 

"At least you're not trapped in a golden cage," Harry replied bitterly. 

"What do you mean?" 

Harry quickly shook his head. "No… I'm sorry. I'm really in no position to complain when you… when I'm literally the luckiest man in this entire country." 

Louis glanced at him from the side. "I don't know about that. It's a lot of responsibility, that's for sure. I mean, that can't be easy for starters. And you have so many eyes on you, judging, observing you. I don't think I could ever do that and I really admire you for it. So please" -He made an inviting gesture with his hands- "feel free to complain as much as you want." 

Harry hesitated shortly before speaking, knowing that once he started, he wouldn't be able to stop. Like the words were dominoes, and if one fell, all the other ones would follow.  
"The palace is a cage. A golden cage- but a cage nonetheless. You're right, everything you say or do gets judged, you have so much responsibility, but at the same time, you feel helpless. As a child, I always had this dream, that I was sitting in my room- and just started flying. I'd fly away from the palace, away from Moscow, away from Russia. Somewhere sunny and warm, where no one knew who I was or expected things from me. Where my father wasn't watching me, drilling me to be the perfect prince, the perfect Tsar. But eventually, I'd always wake up. There's nothing that could ever free you from that cage." 

"Is that what you hope for most? Escaping the palace?" 

"Yeah, I guess so. But I know that's impossible." They walked in peaceful silence for a while, nothing to be heard but the rustling of the leaves.  
"And what do you hope for most?" Harry asked, wanting -whatever it was- to give it to him. 

But Louis merely smiled and raised his eyebrows. "Maybe that we find that flower, so whatever it is will actually come true." 

Harry shook his head, laughing. "I suppose that sounds reasonable." 

"We're here," Louis announced and led Harry through the trees until they dwindled and gave way to a small clearing, a river running through it. Harry looked around in wonder. He knew this clearing. 

"Is this…?" 

"The river you fell in and the glade where we found the flower? Yes." 

Harry looked up to the tops of the trees, the black silhouettes of the branches becoming one with the inky sky which was illuminated by countless of sparkling and blazing stars reflecting on the surface of the water the same colour. And over everything- the moon.  
Round and glowing as a pearl, washing everything in silvery white light. 

Harry turned to Louis, only to see that he had started ascending a crooked tree, gripping the branches and hoisting himself to sit on the top. He stretched to reach a heavy bough, the back of his shirt crawling up, exposing a slice of back. His skin was smooth and pale.  
Louis reached his destination and turned around, looking at Harry expectantly. 

"Could you let me know why exactly you're climbing that tree?" 

Louis smiled mischievously. "To reach the stars, obviously." That was all the explanation Harry was left with, so he started following Louis, clutching tightly to the stem and pushing himself up bit by bit. The bough they were sitting on wasn't even that high off the ground, yet it still felt like miles when Harry looked down at the ground below. 

The high grasses at the edge of the river moved like water as the moonlight danced upon them. "Harry… are you afraid of heights?" Louis asked, surprised. 

"I don't know… maybe." 

"How can you not know if you're afraid of heights when you grew up in a palace with towers that could scratch the surface of the moon?" 

>Harry huffed a laugh. "They aren't that high. And towers are different. They have… walls." 

Out of the corner of his eye he could see Louis smile. "Just don't look down. Look up. It's way more beautiful anyways." 

Harry did, and what he saw took his breath away. The sky was a fabric of light and he stared, mesmerized by the sheer number of stars. 

"Do you think it will rain later?" Louis asked, his gaze also fixed on the sky. 

"I don't know, maybe. Why?" 

"That would be perfect. My two favorite things in this world are darkness and rain." 

"Those are quite strange things to be your favorite things on the planet." 

"You need rain for flowers to grow and darkness to see the stars, so they are my two favorite things." 

Harry frowned, smiling. "That doesn't make a lot of sense. Shouldn't flowers and stars be your favorite thing then?" 

Louis didn't respond for a few heartbeats until he replied with a simple "No." 

Harry laughed. "You really are stubborn." 

"And I'm right." 

"Of course you are." 

"The handsome young fellow who shows you the river and the stars at night is never wrong. Not even if he says the sky is yellow and made of frogs. Which are your favorite things on this planet Harry Styles?" 

"The one with the sky made of frogs?" 

"Exactly that one." 

"Exquisite suits with colorful patterns, thick carpets, ornamented curtains, strange stories, and sunlight." 

"So you are actually an old woman with crinkly skin and white hair." 

Harry playfully shoved his arm. "No, I'm simply a young prince with the mind of a lunatic. But in the best way." 

"Obviously." 

"I'm like a rose which isn't allowed to have thorns. Yet I still do." 

"Everyone does. But that's the best part about them." 

"No one should ever crave a rose without its thorns. If they do, they aren't worth the rose." 

"Did Volodya say that to you?" 

"No. That was me." 

Harry glanced down and saw that his and Louis' hands were nearly touching, mere inches from each other. He forced his gaze to the moon which was peacefully watching over them.  
Louis did the same.And then- he scooted closer. Just barely.  
Now, the tips of their fingers were touching. Louis shifted again, and Harrys body answered with the same.  
They were now arm against arm, leg against leg. Harry looked at Louis. Louis looked at Harry. 

"You know, you're very strange yourself Louis Tomlinson." 

"I'd say we are both quite extraordinary." 

"Yes, potentially." 

"We should respect the old traditions. Do you want to swim?" 

Harry looked at the river below, the starry sky reflecting on the burbling surface, making it look like tiny glowing orbs were drifting on the water.  
"Yes." 

Louis let himself fall, dropping from the bough, and elegantly landed on the grass. Harry stared at him, gaping. Louis looked up at him. "Come on Curly! You can jump. Trust me, you're really not that high up." 

"Umm… no." 

"Just pretend you're flying. You should be quite practiced at that." 

Harry gave him another doubting look before closing his eyes, taking a deep breath and letting himself drop. Louis was right, it really wasn't a long fall. Harry could feel his cheeks blush when he realized he had merely jumped a few arms lengths.  
He turned around and saw that Louis was already taking off his clothes, throwing his shirt in the grass, revealing a lean back, strong shoulder blades visible under tanned skin.  
Harry swallowed and took off his light blouse as well, the warm summer air caressing his freed skin. After that, he took off his trousers, only leaving him in his small undergarment that left little to imagination. 

Louis didn't look at him, merely dunked his feet in the black and silver current. Harry watched his body disappear in the water, the blackness swallowing his calves, his thighs, until it reached his navel and Louis took a deep breath, vanishing completely under the sparkling surface. When he emerged again, his hair all wet and dripping, he yelled, "Are you coming or not?" He grinned and looked at Harry expectantly. Harry could see Louis' eyes briefly drift to his chest and everything below it before he plunged underwater again. 

Harry started his ascend down to the shore, his toes touching the cool water. Slowly, he lowered his body into the current, the water as soft as silk. He took off the flower crown he was still wearing and let it drift on the surface, watching the current taking it away. It made him sad to see it go. He really loved that crown. 

He let himself drift on the surface, looking up at the firmament. His hair was floating in the water around his head like a chocolate-colored cloud. 

Suddenly, two strong hands grabbed his waist and pulled him down, the water swallowing him whole. When he emerged again, spitting water and laughing, he gave the evildoer a playful shove and Louis pretended to fall. Harry could see him swim underwater toward him, until he emerged right before him, their torsos mere inches from each other. Louis looked at him, the moonlight turning his skin silver and his eyes a darker, deeper blue, infinitely tender. Eyes so blue, Harry felt as if he was drowning in them. 

The desire in him to touch Louis' skin, to lose himself in him completely, became stronger and stronger with each second their heavy breaths filled the space between their mouths. 

A desire he kept trying to drown. A desire that held its breath until his focus slipped, and then surged up again, gasping for air. A desire he didn't want to fight any longer. _Couldn't_ fight any longer, no matter how hard he tried. 

Louis slowly lifted his hand, softly brushing a streak of wet hair off Harry forehead. Then he lifted the other. He cradled Harrys face in his hands, his warm breath burning Harrys skin in every place it touched. 

Louis' mouth brushed Harrys. A dip, a touch like a whisper, a gentle, gentle grazing of Harrys upper lip across both of Louis' in an upward tilt, and then there was space between them again, so small a space, their faces so close. They breathed each other's breath as a pull gathered between and around and in them, and then the space was gone again, and all there was was the kiss.  
Salty, and sweet, and warm, and soft, and hard, and longing. 

Louis' hands in Harrys hair; Harrys palms at Louis' chest, the rest of the world with all its cages and crowns forgotten in the feeling of each other's heartbeat. 

Harry kissed Louis like he'd been longing to kiss him since he had seen him standing in that doorframe, his hair disheveled and his clothes dirty. It was like falling into the sun, falling together, and Harry knew he would never stop falling, knew that now that he'd grabbed hold of Louis, he would never let go. 

He felt the luxurious give of Louis' mouth, the glide of his strong, beautiful body against his. 

His kiss was like rich wine laid out for him alone, like a challenge offered and a promise kept. 

"We should get out," Harry whispered between kisses against Louis' lips and Louis affirmatively groaned. Neither of them made a move though, until Harry softly gripped Louis' wrists and pulled him to the shore, lying on top of him, never breaking the kiss. 

Harry felt like he was split in half, one part of him on fire, burning at every spot Louis touched, the other part calm and peaceful, content with the knowledge that Louis was there. An assuring feeling. As long as Louis was there, everything would be fine. 

The undergarments he was wearing had become horribly tight, his body reacting to Louis' skin on his, and he could feel Louis' body do the same. Suddenly, Louis turned Harry over, now on top of him, the kiss deepening, until he abruptly broke free, heavily panting. 

Harry moaned in protest and his hand started slipping into Louis' pants, but Louis stopped him. Harry nearly cried out as Louis' teeth clamped onto the tender spot where his neck met his shoulder. He couldn't move- couldn't think, and his world narrowed to the feeling of Louis' lips and teeth against his skin. His bite lightened, and his tongue caressed the places where his teeth had been. Intently, territorially, lazily. Heat pounded between Harrys legs, as Louis grounded his body against his, against every vulnerable spot. 

A moan slipped past Harrys lips. Louis jerked away. The air felt bitingly cold against his freed skin, as Harry panted and Louis stared at him. Harry looked at him in surprise. 

"What is it? Did I do something wrong?" He couldn't help but notice that his voice was trembling. 

Louis' eyes widened before he suddenly broke out into a short laugh. "You're asking me if there is something wrong with you?" 

Harry didn't respond, only looking up at him, his curls spread out on the grass. 

"Look at me Harry," Louis said, his voice demanding and clear. Harry did. "You are the most beautiful thing I have ever seen and that just now… was indescribable. But I don't want our first time to be on a dirty forest ground." 

Harry smirked, relief flooding over him. "I think it's quite romantic." 

__Louis merely returned his smile, leaning down to his ear. Every inch of Harrys body went taut as his words echoed through him.  
"Just you wait." He said his name like a caress, and his hot breath tickled Harrys ear. His back arched slightly, which led to another lazy smile on Louis' swollen lips.  
He let himself roll off Harry and lay on his back. 

Louis got up and put his clothes back on. "If I keep looking at you like that," he said, motioning to Harrys nearly completely naked body, "I won't be able to control myself." 

"I don't want you to," Harry responded, but he pulled his clothes over his damp skin and then lay back down on the ground next to Louis. 

"We didn't find the fern," Harry said after a while and Louis started giggling. 

"We didn't find the magic fern? Oh, what a surprise! I am in a state of shock!" 

Harry joined his laughter, until his eyes fell on a dandelion growing next to his head. He picked it up and turned on his stomach. "Well, we could still wish for something." 

Louis rolled himself on his stomach as well, looking at the plant in Harrys hand. "On three," he murmured. "One. Two. Three." 

They both blew at the same time, their joined breaths scattering the grey seeds in the warm air like small dancing dust particles. Harry had closed his eyes while saying the wish in his head, and when he opened them again, he saw that Louis was watching him, his head slightly tilted to the side. He hooked an arm around Harrys waist and pulled him down on the soft grass, his hand warm and steady on Harrys back. 

If Harry had it his way, he would have spent the next week, or possibly the next eternity, entangled with Louis on the grass, listening to the quiet burbling of the river, the water lapping against the shore, losing himself in the touch of her fingers and the taste of his lips, the warm summer air drying their wet hair and skin. 

But the sun always rises, lightening everything, taking away the mystery and hushed whispers of the moon. As the sunlight slowly started climbing over the emerald grass, washing everything in soft pink and orange, Harry turned on his stomach, watching Louis who had his eyes still closed, one hand resting on his belly, the other one serving as a pillow for the back of his head. It felt like the sun and the moon embraced each other in passing, one brief moment together as one, before leaving again. It was fascinating, this rare moment of peace in the air, but Harry only had eyes for Louis, watching the heaving and lowering of his chest, his high cheekbones, his soft, relaxed lips, and the way the light played with the color of his hair. It was hallucinating. 

"Stop staring at me Dimples," Louis murmured after a while, eyes still closed. 

"I'm not staring," Harry smirked, still staring. 

"Of course you are. This light is way too flattering not to stare at me. I wouldn't be able to keep my eyes away from the sight as well if I were you." 

Harry didn't reply, only leaned down to Louis, the tips of their noses touching ever so slightly.  
Louis opened his eyes again, blue and soft and tender. They stayed like that for a few seconds, breathing each other breath, smelling each other's skin. 

"We should go back," Louis whispered eventually, nearly inaudible. 

"Do we have to?" Harry whispered back. 

"No," Louis said breathlessly and finally closed the space between them, sitting up and burying his hands in Harrys hair. Harry gave himself over to the kiss, everything else forgotten in mere seconds. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Songs:  
> "Sweet"- The Dave Matthews Band  
> "Poison & Wine"- The Civil Wars  
> "Riverside"- Mogli  
> "Till the sun comes up"-Gavin James  
> "Moon"-Sleeping at Last  
> (Sorry that it's so many songs, but those are the ones I listened to while writing...)
> 
> Thanks for reading, and I just wanted to say that kudos and comments would be really appreciated, so please let me know what you think of it so far :)


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You flower, you feast.

Harry left the council room, a persistent faint pain from the endless discussions and fights throbbing behind his eyelids. He watched the council members disappear down the long hallway one by one, already discussing their supper. Harry massaged his temples, his eyes closed. 

"Hello, your Majesty."

Harrys head shot around and he saw Louis leaning against the gilded tapestry, his arms and feet crossed in a laid-back manner. 

"Louis?! What are you doing here?" Harry asked, the throbbing in his head forgotten immediately. 

Louis looked around the hallway. "I wanted to see the palace. Niall was right, the loos really are phenomenal." 

Harry shook his head, unable to fathom that Louis was actually here. "How did you get inside?"

"The guard has finally started trusting me, so he let me pass this time. Or maybe it is just that I look incredibly intimating and daunting today and he was scared of me."  
Harry didn't know about intimating and daunting, but he definitely looked incredibly handsome.

"So, will you show me around?" Louis asked, a smile on his lips.

"If that's what you want," Harry replied and started walking down the hall to the throne room he had also shown to Niall in what felt like years ago.

He opened the heavy doors, revealing the dimly lit throne room behind them, the rain of a summer tempest clashing against the panes. Louis turned around in amazement, much like Niall had done upon first entering the extravagant room. Louis looked at the throne underneath the painted sun with narrowed eyes. "It doesn't look very comfortable," he muttered. 

Harry made an inviting gesture to the throne. "You could try it."

Louis looked at him skeptically. "Are you sure that's allowed?"

"I'm the Prince. I decide what's allowed."

Louis sat down on the golden chair, his feet draped over the side, and inspected the room and Harry in it. "Not even too bad," he decided after a while. 

"Want to see the council room?" Harry suggested.

Louis removed his feet from the side of the throne and rose again. "Sure."  
Harry led him to the adjoining doors, entering the slightly less-impressive room with it wood-panelled walls, the countless vases and portraits on the walls and the grand table in its center. Louis stood next to him. "Harry?"

"Yeah?"

"I don't really want to see these rooms. To be quite honest, there's only one room I would like you to show me."

Harry swallowed. "Which one?"

Louis turned his head to him, his eyes fixed on Harrys lips. "I think you know which one."

Harry felt Louis slide his hand in his own, his fingers hot and burning, willing Harry to look at him. He did. Harry felt slightly dizzy. His heart pounded, his pulse raced.  
Louis wet his lips, his breathing as uneven as Harrys. 

His fingers contracted against the plane of Harry's lower back, and he let Louis tug him closer - until their bodies were touching, and the warmth of him seeped into Harry. 

"I'm thinking I might kiss you," Louis said quietly, intently.

"Then do it."

Louis' lips brushed Harrys - testing, soft and warm. He pulled back a little. He stared at Harry for a few heartbeats and the next moment, they were kissing like crazy.  
Like their lives depended on it.

Harrys hands were around Louis' neck, pulling him closer, crushing himself against him. Louis' hands roved Harrys back, playing in his hair, grasping his waist, as if he couldn't touch enough of him at once.

His tongue slipped into Harrys mouth, gentle but demanding, and every square inch of Harrys body dissolved into Louis, melting against him. Louis' fingers gripped his hair, pulling him closer. He had never wanted anyone like this before. Ever. 

Louis pushed him backward and suddenly, they were lying on the council table, flower-filled vases falling on the ground. Harry could hear the cracking of glass and ceramic.  
He didn't care. 

The weight of Louis' body on top of his was extraordinary.  
He felt Louis -all of him- pressed against him, and inhaled his scent.  
The most delicious smell he could ever imagine. He wanted to breathe him, lick him, eat him, drink him. His lips tasted like mint, his skin smelled like salt.  
His face had the slightest bit of stubble and it rubbed Harrys skin. It felt wonderful.  
His hands were everywhere, and it didn't matter that his mouth was already on top of Harrys, he want him closer closer closer.

The rain rattled against the windows, streaks of water running down the panes like tears. 

Harry hooked his legs around Louis' calves, running his feet down the hard muscles of his calves. They both broke the kiss for a few seconds to pull their shirts over their heads and throw them into the broken pieces of glass, pottery, and wet flowers on the ground, before immediately locking their lips again, like they were oxygen, essential for the beating of their hearts and the air in their lungs.

Louis breathed Harrys name onto his chest, one of his hands exploring the plane of Harrys torso. His kiss deepened as his fingers slipped into the narrowness of Harrys trousers, between his legs, coaxing and teasing. Harry ground against his hand, yielding completely to the writhing wilderness that had roared alive inside him, and breathed his name onto his skin. He paused again -his fingers retracting- but Harry grabbed Louis, pulling him farther on top him. He wanted Louis now - wanted the barriers of their clothing to vanish, wanted to taste his sweat, wanted to become full of him. 

But first- He grabbed Louis and turned him over, now crouching on top of him and started removing his trousers and pants, the length of him springing free. Harrys mouth went dry at the sight of it. He wanted him, wanted every glorious inch of Louis in him, wanted him until their souls were forged together. He was enormous in Harrys hand- so hard, yet so silken that Harry just ran a finger down him in wonder. Louis hissed, cock twitching as Harry brushed his thumb over the tip. Harry smirked as he did it again.  
Eventually, he leaned down and put his mouth on Louis.  
Louis jerked at the contact with a barked, "Shit," and Harry laughed around him, even as he took him deeper into his mouth.

Louis' hands were now gripping the edges of the table on either side of him, white-knuckled as Harry slid his tongue over him, grazing slightly with his teeth. Louis' groan was fire to Harrys blood. 

Harry was surprised he even made it a minute before Louis' body went taut, release already shuttering through his body. "My turn," he panted, moving down to Harrys crotch, but Harry stopped him, gently cupping his face in his hands. 

"Maybe we shouldn't… Someone could walk in any minute."

Louis glared over Harrys head at the door and groaned. "I guess you're right." He let his head drop on Harrys bare chest, his feathery hair tickling Harrys chin. 

"I could expand the tour of the palace. Do you want to join me in my chambers?" Harry asked with raised eyebrows, a cocky smile on his lips. 

Louis let his forehead rest against Harrys.  
"If you insist, your majesty."

Harry could still feel the almost painful throbbing between his legs, only separated from Louis' length by the fabric of his trousers. May all trousers be damned and banished. "I do."

They both sat up, Louis still half in Harrys lap, and looked at the mess of shards and clothes on the floor. 

Slowly, they both hopped off the table and picked up their discarded clothes. "If we run, maybe no one will see us," Harry said, looking at Louis' and his own nearly naked bodies, merely covered by their pants. 

"I've always wanted to run naked through the palace," Louis retorted and grinned at him.

"Then let's go," Harry yelled and started racing to the doors. "Catch me if you can!"

He could hear Louis' bright laughter behind him as he started chasing after him. "What do I get when I do?"

Harry quickly glanced over his shoulder, the golden and red walls blurring at either side of his vision as he sprinted through the hallways, passing armchairs, chandeliers, portraits, vases, and windows, raindrops prattling against them. "Whatever you want to."

"Well, that's an offer I can't refuse," Louis gave back and started running even faster. 

They ran through the palace like two little boys playing a game, their giggles filling the empty corridors, until Louis caught up with Harry and suddenly yanked him back before he could round a corner.

Harry shrieked and giggled, but Louis laid a finger to his lips, gesturing for him to be quiet.  
Harry slowly peered around the corner, and saw a whistling maiden walk through the corridor, carrying a basket with fresh linen. She was steering exactly to where the two boys were standing. Harry grabbed Louis by the arm and pulled him behind a heavy red curtain into a small alcove. 

They both started giggling as they heard the maiden walk by, pressing their palms to each other's mouths to stifle their laughter. When the whistling of the maiden had vanished, they released the other again, starting to cackle uncontrollably.  
Harry had to swipe a tear from his cheek, Louis slid down the wall of the alcove, holding his stomach. 

When they both quieted again Harry helped Louis to his feet, and the next moment, they were kissing again. Breathless and burning. 

Harry picked Louis up, Louis hooking his feet around Harrys waist. Harry pressed him against the wall, the impact of Louis' back with the wall only softened by the silky tapestry.  
Harry carried Louis through the heavy red curtain of the alcove and the last few steps to his chamber doors, his feet doing the movements on their own, the rest of his body only focused on Louis in his arms, his lips on his own, his tongue in his mouth. 

He pushed open the door with his back, entering the familiar room behind. 

Softly, he lowered Louis on the bed, Louis tugging him down with him until Harry was lying underneath him on the soft midnight blue velvet fabric of his bed.  
More- Harry wanted the hardness of Louis' body crushing his; he wanted his mouth and teeth and tongue on his bare skin, on his chest, between his legs. Everywhere- he wanted him everywhere. He was drowning in that need.

Louis' hands found his waist, and Harry bucked his hips off the table to help him remove the last piece of clothing still separating them.  
Now utterly naked before him, Harry watched Louis' gaze travel to his bare chest, to his abdomen, to between his thighs.  
In that moment, more than ever, Harry felt like Louis saw him. All of him.  
He saw the deepest depths of his heart and soul, and he saw not the Tsar, or the Prince, or a scared little boy, or a broken flower, but him. Harry. 

Wholly naked, Harry watched as Louis took of his pants as well, releasing his hard and swollen cock which was already leaking precome.  
They smiled at each other, and the next moment, Louis' mouth crashed into Harrys again, his bare skin so warm against Harrys own, and Harry gripped his face, the slight stubble there grazing his palms. 

Louis pulled back again, and Harry let out a bark of protest- that choked off into a gasp as Louis gripped his thighs and yanked him to the edge of the bed, taking the silken bedsheet with him, hooked Harrys legs over his shoulders to rest on either side of his pale neck, and knelt before him. His tongue stroked the head of Harrys twitching cock, precome leaking into his mouth. Louis' teeth gently grazed Harry's skin, a low moan escaping the back of his throat. "Louis-" Harry gasped, pulling him on the bed again. "Please."

Louis only gave him a lazy smile, his eyebrows raised. Bastard.  
"Well, I need something."

Harry pointed at the bedside table next to them. "First drawer," he whispered, his voice shaky from longing. He could see that Louis was in the same state as him, his blue eyes darker than usual, clouded with desire. He immediately started rummaging in the drawer, eventually producing a bottle of plant oil. He opened the bottle and slickened his fingers with it, immediately returning to Harry who was still laying on his back, eyes shiny and glaring at Louis.

The first brush of Louis' finger against his entrance dragged a groan from deep in Harrys throat. Louis snarled in satisfaction at the wetness collecting at the tip of Harrys twitching cock, as his finger circled that spot, teasing, brushing up against it, but never quite-

His other hand gently squeezed Harrys cock at the same moment his finger pushed down exactly where Harry wanted. He bucked up his hips, his hair spread around his head on the pillow, his head burying deep into the soft feathers, panting as Louis' finger flicked-  
He cried out, and Louis laughed, low and soft. "Like that?"  
A moan was Harrys only reply. More more more.

He added a second finger, sliding down, slow and brazen, straight through Harrys core. Every point of his body, his mind, his soul, narrowed to the feeling of Louis' fingers inside of him. Harry started to move inside on him, and Louis started swearing in a long exhale. His lips pressed into Harrys neck, kissing up, up toward his ear.  
Harry let out a moan so loud it drowned out the rain against the panes as Louis slid in a third finger, filling him so much he couldn't think around it, couldn't breathe.

Louis' lips were tracing the shell of his ear, his heavy breathing the only sound Harry heard.  
Harry turned his head around, capturing Louis' mouth with his own, biting on his lower lip.

Louis groaned, plunging his fingers in deeper, harder. Harry didn't care- didn't care one bit about what or who he was and what Louis was and where they both came from, about the invisible golden bars between them as he yielded fully to Louis, opening his mouth. His tongue swept in, moving in a way that sparked Harrys imagination about what he'd do if he got between his the cheeks of his arse. 

His fingers plunged in and out, slow and hard, and Harrys very existence narrowed to the feel of them, to the tightness in him ratcheting up with every deep stroke, every echoing thrust of Louis' tongue in his mouth. "Louis," Harry rasped.  
Now. He wanted him now.

Harry locked his legs around his back, and Louis finally nudged his entrance with his length. And paused. Harry arched his back, pushing himself even closer to Louis.  
Louis stopped to look at him, his mouth slightly open, eyes fixed on Harry.  
"You're so beautiful," he rasped, and Harry actually believed him. His brown curls were spread on the midnight-blue pillow under his head, his eyes surely glossy with pleasure, and his lips swollen and pink from all the kisses. 

Harry only bit his lip and scowled at Louis for waiting so long. "Well, I want you, and as your future Tsar I demand that you finally get on with it."

Louis kissed him again, soft and tender this time, only an infinitely gentle grazing of lips, and slid in. Harry could hardly breathe, hardly think beyond where their bodies were joined. Louis stilled inside him, letting him adjust, and Harry opened his eyes to see him staring down at him. "Say it again," he murmured.  
Harry knew what he meant.

"I want you," he breathed.

Louis pulled out slightly and thrust back in slow. So torturously slow.  
"I want you," Harry gasped out loud.

Again, he pulled out, then thrust in.  
"I want you."

Again- faster, deeper this time.  
Harry dragged his fingers through Louis' hair, down his back, over the full cheeks of his arse.

He moved his hips in time with Louis'. Their foreheads rested against each other's, both of their faces turning damp. They moved together like that, a rolling of hips, thrusting of loins, intertwined fingers, and hot breaths. Every inch of Harry burned and tightened, and his control slipped entirely as Louis whispered his name against Harrys burning skin. 

The sound of his name on Louis' lips was his undoing. Release barreled down his spine, and he cried out, only to have Louis' lips cover his, as though to devour the sound. His tongue flicked the roof of Harrys mouth while Harry shuddered around him, clenching tight.

Louis followed close behind, going over the edge with a small cry, hands fisting the sheets next to Harrys head. Silence fell, only interrupted by their panting breaths.  
Louis rolled off Harry, and both of them lay next to each other, eyes closed, sweaty chests heaving heavily.

The rain pattered steadily against the windowpanes. Eventually, Louis rose to his feet, standing on the mattress, and gripped the wooden bars at the foot of the bed, watching the summer rainstorm outside. Harry turned to the nightstand and produced a full bottle of red wine and two glasses from one of the drawers, things he always kept in there in case of unexpected company, heartbreak, or sorrow. He filled both of the cups with the dark red liquid and stretched one out to Louis who turned around and took it. 

"To us," he said, and they clunked their glasses together before taking drinking its contains. 

"I love thunderstorms," Louis said, glaring at the raindrops on the panes. Harry started giggling, and jumped off the bed, running to the windows completely naked, and tore them open, the warm nightly air and raindrops touching his skin. He closed his eyes and listened to the howling of the wind around the towers of the palace, the prattling of water on the ground far below. 

Louis' shoulder gently grazed his as he joined Harry at the open window. The storm blew their hair out of their faces, making Harrys curls float around his head, and playing with the feathery strands of Louis' hair. Louis embraced Harry from behind, his arms sliding around Harrys waist and holding him tight to his chest. Harry rested his head against Louis shoulder.

"Do you ever just find yourself wanting to pause time?" he murmured. "Stop the world from turning, so you can live in that one moment forever? I wish I could do that right now. I don't ever want this moment to pass. I want to hold so tight onto it, never let it go. That's how happy I am right now."

He could feel Louis' lips curve into a smile against the shell of his ear, as he whispered, "Every moment with you is one of those moments."

Harry turned his head around to look at Louis. "Louis?"

"Harry?"

Harry swallowed. "I think I've irreversibly fallen in love with you." His voice sounded strained and broken as he said it. 

"Well, I suppose that is quite fortunate to me for I am catastrophically in love with a boy who just so happens to be the future Tsar of Russia and I want to scream my love for Harry Edward Styles from every rooftop in Moscow. I want every person in this entire country to know that I can call you mine, and you can call me yours."

"Then do it. Scream it from the rooftops."

Louis smiled at him, a blazing smile that said a thousand words, and then he leaned out the window into the rain, and started screaming. _"I love Harry Edward Styles! I am in love with Harry Edward Styles!"_ And then he started howling and cheering like a madman, his arms raised in the air. 

Harry leaned out the window next to him, looking at the black city stretching to the horizon, melting together with the inky black sky. The lanterns on the streets specked the blackness below with golden lights.  
_"I love Louis William Tomlinson! I am in love with Louis William Tomlinson!"_ he screamed at the top of his lungs, all the love that he had for the boy next to him tucked away in his heart and soul flooding out, sizzling as the words met the raindrops and windy currents.

Louis grabbed his hand and yanked him back inside the room, twirled him around on the soft carpet, and then leaped onto the giant bed, jumping up and down on the mattress like a little boy. Harry laughed, and joined him, the bed feathers creaking under their feet at each impact. 

At some point, they started kissing again, a clashing of teeth and tongues, and before Harry even knew it, he was lying on the soft blue silk again, and Louis' mouth was around his cock, sucking him dry. Harry was squirming at every flick of his tongue across his head, at every grazing of his teeth against his skin. Harry couldn't tell where one orgasm ended and the next began, as Louis sheathed himself inside of him again, in one easy, fluid motion, Harry's consciousness splintering to pieces around him. He thrusted into Harry, until Harry became limp with pleasure, tears starting to form at the corners of his eyes.  
They moved together, unending and wild and burning and glowing, and when Harry went over the edge this time, Louis moaned and went with him.

Sometime later, they were both laying on their sides, Louis' hand around Harrys waist, Harrys arm under his head. Maybe it was the wine, or the aftermath of pleasure, but Harrys could feel his eyelids getting heavy, fatigue and exhaustion washing up against him. 

The room started losing its colours, until it merely consisted of shades of darkness and night. Only those sparkling blue eyes were bright, full of colour and light. 

The soft blue silk spread underneath them looked like the night sky, Harry thought. Like him and Louis were stars drifting in the inky infinity that was the galaxy. Or like they were the moon and the sun, in that short moment of passing each other before dusk and dawn. He could feel a tired smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. He liked that thought. 

"Why are you smiling?" Louis whispered.

Harrys voice was heavy and dragging as he said: "Because you and I, Louis Tomlinson, you and I are one of those epic love stories. We may be damned and cursed from the start, but that doesn't stop us. We're infinite, and we're in love, so in the end - we'll win."

The last thing he felt before the darkness swallowed him whole, was Louis' infinitely gentle fingers brushing a loose curl from his forehead, his steady breath on Harry's skin, and a hushed whisper that could have been a figment of Harry's imagination, as he said, "With you, how could we not win? I won't let anything else be an option."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Helloooo! 
> 
> The songs that inspired this chapter were mainly the entire discography of Cigarettes after Sex. But especially "Nothing's gonna hurt you baby". A masterpiece.  
> But also "Diamond days" by Cruel Youth and "Blue Velvet" by Lana del Rey. Oh, and also "Never let me go" by Florence + the machine.
> 
> Damn it, I really wanted to reduce the number of songs for each chapter, but what can you do? I guess there is no such thing as too much music... 
> 
> Okay, aaaaaanyway. I really hope you're enjoying it so far, and I hope you have a great day/night! :)
> 
> P.S.: Feel free to leave a comment if you'd like to. That would really mean a lot to me, thanks!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> About garden parties and rain.

At the garden parties in the Kremlin, gossip swirled wild on eddies of whiskeyed breath, mingling with the heavy odour of roses and tendrils rising from cigarettes and pipes.  
Harry was a popular topic of the gossip, even if he attended the parties. It was generally agreed on that he spent too much time with the common folk, strolling across the red square and talking to peasants and farmers. (Apparently even befriending them)

And if that wasn't bad enough, he touched beggars and had even been seen carrying rag-swaddled infants in his arms. Unthinkable.  
It suggested to the nobility a grubby intimacy with them, as if he took the dirty, poor streets of Moscow into his very mouth and tasted them, like a lover's fingers. It was indecent.  
They didn't know how right they were concerning their analogies. Even the most shameless gossips can inadvertently hit upon truths.

But the Emir and his family were also a widely spoken about subject, rumours about them passing from giggling mouth to sceptical ear - that the son Zayn could speak to tigers, that the youngest daughter kept voodoo dolls in her chamber, performing strange rituals with them, and that a genie had once stolen the Emir's shadow while he was asleep.  
Harry could rule out at least the last rumour, since the shadows of the Emir's hands were dancing around on the ground as he passionately gestured with them while telling stories about his home country. He told them about white-turbaned servants bearing trays of colored sweets and cocktails, about fantastic banyan trees and overlush vine flowers, and stables full of fine horses and mares.

Otherwise, it was like any other party Harry had attended frequently since childhood, bright gowns billowing in the garden, gentlemen lolling about with drinks sweating in their big, hot hands. There was a table laden with pastries and fruits, but those seemed stale and boring in comparison to the exotic, mellow fruits the Emir was talking about.

When the conversation eventually turned to politics and the works in the mines this winter, Harrys mind immediately drifted off, his thoughts wandering to a story he had once read in Volodya's tower, about a garden party similar to this one. It was the christening of a little girl, and the party was in full swing when an old woman suddenly appeared and cursed the infant with the most beautiful voice on the planet, but anyone within earshot would immediately drop dead upon hearing her utter a sound. So the girl had kept her voice in a cage, never daring to open it for she was afraid that it would kill all her loved ones.  
Sometimes Harry felt like that girl, not his voice being the thing he had to lock within himself, but another part of himself. The part that loved pressed flowers, colourful suits, stories about girls whose voices could kill anyone within earshot, piano music, screaming at the top of one's lungs about freedom and love, and Louis Tomlinson.  
He had to keep his love for Louis Tomlinson hidden in a cage for the sake of both of them. And it hurt.

Thinking of Louis made his mind wander back to the day before, when they had made love in Harrys bed, made him think of the salt and honey on Louis' skin, how he had pressed his lips to the nape of Harrys neck and traced his tongue down the arc of his spine. Harry loved the curve of his hip and the whisper of his hair; he loved the gleam in his eye when his lips were around Harrys cock. He loved the taste of him.

He quickly brought his mind back to the sunny garden as he felt his trousers tightening around his crotch, afraid someone would notice the bulge there. Just the thought of Louis uplifted him like the crescendo at the end of a symphony and made his heartbeat quicken.

Harry looked up and peered around at the partygoers. Their faces were flushed with laughter and with liquor as they all stared at him. They seemed to be waiting for him to say something, but Harry had no idea what that may be. He hadn't paid attention to their conversation in the slightest. He stared around at all the expectant faces, searching for help.  
_Why couldn't Liam be here?_ Normally he would help Harry in these situations, when Harry had been caught up in a daydream as he liked to do, and Liam told him what he had missed. Where was he, anyway?

"We were just congratulating you on your recent political decision," sneered Irina Wronskij, a silver-haired, straight-backed, and thin-lipped woman, with a stare that could drain laughter from the air like a sponge absorbed water. "We can all agree that it is the right one. It's certainly beneficial to the well-being of this empire."

"Oh, thank you," Harry stammered, without any idea which decision they meant. "Yes, that's what I thought as well." Before he could think about which decision they had been talking about, he heard someone clear his throat behind him and turned around, mouth hanging wide open when he realized who it was.

Volodya was standing there, leaning on a crane, his pipe hanging from the corner of his mouth. Harry was only capable of staring at him. He couldn't believe Volodya had actually left his tower. It was strange seeing him in these surroundings, like seeing a bird swim, or a fish fly.

"What have I told you about gaping with an open mouth Harry?" Volodya asked, elevating his eyebrows.

"You should close it before a bird flies in," they both said in unison.

"Or before you know it, there will be an entire nest in your mouth and the bird will lay its eggs in there," Volodya added. He eased himself on a wicker chair next to Harry and helped himself to a glass of vermouth and orange bitter, smiling brightly at all the others guests around the table.

"What are you doing here?" Harry whispered.

"It was such a beautiful day, so I thought I just had to go outside. I mean, look at the sky today! Not a single cloud to be seen! Or at least I think that's what it looks like. It certainly feels that way. Days like these are very rare in this country."

Harry didn't mention that the last few weeks the weather had been this bright nearly every day, and instead only sipped his glass of cool lemonade.

"But I was interrupting your conversation!" Volodya exclaimed with an apologizing look. "May I ask what subject we are engaging ourselves with?"

"I was just telling the Emir how lovely his two daughters are!" explained a middle-aged woman, who happened to be one of Harrys countless aunts, rapturously. "They are such nice and beautiful girls. Oh, how I hope that my nephew will come to the right decision and take Qitura as his wife, so we don't have to see her leave again!" She had apparently consumed a tad too much alcohol already, her cheeks red as she added, "If he doesn't do it, I'll take her as my wife instead!" She cackled at her own joke, and the ladies around her gasped and pretended to scold her with their fans.

"Anna, you and your dirty mouth!" cried one woman in amusement. "But you are right, she is lovely. Any man could count himself lucky to marry her."

Everyone at the table turned to Qitura, who was chatting to a few other guests across the lawn. "Does she sing?" the woman asked the Emir curiously. "The best woman can sing."

"I have certainly never heard her do it," the Emir mused, twirling his moustache.

The woman's eyes glinted with merry mischief. "Well, if you'd like to find out, we should all encourage her to sing us an aria."

The eyes of Harrys aunt lit up, as she loudly suggested, "Harry, why don't you play a song for us?" She motioned to the abandoned piano forte on the lawn. "Your mother was always so proud of you for being so skilled at the piano. She used to tell us all about the little concerts you gave to them as a little boy! I suppose you still play?"

Harry shook his head, sipping from his glass. "I'm afraid I don't anymore. I sadly lost my joy in it eventually. You know how little boys are- they lose interest in something almost as quickly as they find their interest in said thing in the first place."

This wasn't strictly true- Harry had not stopped playing the instrument, but after his mother's death he had lost the joy in it, every note from the keys a reminder of his mother and her proud face as he played the music to her as a little boy.

"Oh, I'm sure you still have it in you to play us a song," his aunt insisted and the other people made approving noises.

"I couldn't possibly," Harry objected. "It would be a torture to one's ears."

"If you say so," his aunt finally gave in and leaned back in her chair.

"Can I ask where your son is?" a man with a walrus moustache asked the Emir. "I see your two eldest sons are over there, but don't you have three boys your Highness?"

The Emir chuckled. "I'm sure he's gallivanting with some maiden or possibly the prince's right-hand man." He smiled benignly in Harrys direction. "They seem to be getting along quite well."

Harry smirked. "Yes, I suppose are."

The Emir took a sip from his glass, and continued, "Zayn has always had a freedom-loving spirit. That boy likes pleasure and he gets it where he can."

"No offence your Highness," a member of the council chimed into the conversation, "but do you think it would be commendable for your son to befriend the Prince's advisor? We shouldn't stir the youth's fantasies about having a connection with people from a different rank. It doesn't seem appropriate to me."

"Oh, but Liam is very influential. He's an important part of this government from what I've heard. I'm sure a blossoming friendship between the two of them is a good thing."

"No offence, Maksim," Harry suddenly addressed the man, enraged about his words, "but do you think it would be advisable for you to be spending a good amount of your time in the broom closet on the third floor? You know, the one just around the corner from the oil painting of Katarina the Great? Do you know which one I mean? It's not easy to overlook that broom closet, since my friend Liam and I painted it red on a whim when we were little boys. Tell me, do you have company in those hours? Actually, now that I think about it… Aunt Anna, I saw you entering the same closet a few days ago! Do you think it is suitable for you two to be spending that much time in dark broom closets? I would say it must look rather peculiar, especially to your spouses." He took a sip from his glass. "Are they here today?"

There were gasps across the garden, and then a titter of incredulous laughter.  
The people loved a good scandal. The face of Harrys aunt had turned completely red while Maksim's skin had taken a purple colour that made him resemble a plum.  
Harrys aunt hid behind her fan, and Maksim quickly rose from his chair and hurried away, mumbling something about having an important meeting he still had to attend.

Volodya chuckled next to Harry and puffed on his pipe. "Ah, scandals are a wonderful thing. They make life so much more interesting. Without them, the days would be so dull and boring."

Harry felt sorry for exposing the guests like that, but Maksim had earned it. Harry hadn't been able to stand listening to him talk about whom people should be allowed to love and whom not. After a few minutes, Harry excused himself as well, rising from his chair, and leaving the garden. He had somewhere else where he would rather be.

***

Harry leaned forward to kiss Louis, softly, tenderly. As their mouths met, Harry slid onto him, lowering himself on Louis' cock. He started circling his hips in slow movements, Louis gripping them firmly while pushing his up to Harry. Harry braced his hands against the panes of Louis' chest, his fingernails digging into his skin there. Louis' barked his name, thrusting his hips up. Harry started gaining momentum, the riding becoming faster and harder until eventually, Louis gripped him by the waist and turned him over.

One second, Harry was astride Louis, his head thrown back in pleasure, and the next he was flipped onto his front, and his hips were being tugged up, up before Louis was inside of him again. Harry moaned into the pillow at every glorious inch of him, rising onto his forearms and gripping the cool, white sheets of Louis' bed in the farmhouse. Louis' lips made a trail of kisses down Harry's neck and the length of his spine, and the whole world constricted to the touch of his lips on Harry's back. Everything beyond them, beyond him, became nothing but a void of darkness and moonlight.

Louis pulled out and plunged back in, faint stars exploding behind Harry's eyelids in an instant, and he thought that no matter how much of Louis was inside him, he would never get enough of him. He managed to rise up enough to see where they were joined- to see the moonlight glowing on their skin, the constant and steady thrusting of Louis' hips, moving in and out of Harry time and time again. The sight of it wrecked Harry so throughouly that he climaxed with Louis' name on his lips. Louis found his release nearly at the same time, gasping Harry's name over and over as he spilled himself in him.

They remained like that, fingertips digging into skin, Louis' sweaty forehead against Harry's shoulder. Eventually, Louis slipped out of Harry and lay down next to him, the moonlight dancing over his side. They smiled at each other, exhausted and happy.

But then Harry saw a hint of sadness glimmering in Louis' eye and a shadow crossing his features. "What's wrong?" Harry whispered, his voice raw and quiet.

Louis took Harrys hand in his, his callused and scarred skin softly grazing Harry's fingers.  
"I will miss you so much," Louis replied in a strained voice, his eyes fixed on their threaded fingers.

Harry furrowed his brows in confusion. "What do you mean? Why miss me?"

Louis blinked at him. "I will miss you when I leave this autumn."

Harry quickly sat up, pulling his hand back. "Wait, you're leaving?" His voice sounded shaky.

Louis sat up too, giving Harry a confused look. "Of course I am. I'm a man under the age of fifty, which means I will be working in the mines this winter."  
Harry couldn't fathom the words coming out of Louis' mouth. "I thought you knew about it, since, you know, _you're_ the one passing the laws."

Harry's mind raced back to that council meeting many weeks ago. The voice of Ljewin Payne. _'Make the work there compulsory. It is the right choice for the Empire'_. The expectant faces of the men around the table, watching Harry. He remembered the garden party, the guests congratulating him on the new law. He was so stupid. _How could he be so stupid?_

He had damned thousands of men with only one word, Louis one of them. And all of it just because he had been scared of what the men at court thought of him and his ability to be a ruler. "I… I didn't… No!" he stammered, unable to get out a word through the lump in his throat. He shook his head. This couldn't be happening.

He could feel his eyes starting to burn. "It's only five months," Louis started, but Harry could see in his eyes that it wasn't only five months. Five months was a long time in the icy northern cold of Norilsk with its darkness and dirt. Louis lowered his head. He looked so vulnerable like that, his neck bare and exposed, Harry couldn't bare it. He felt the overwhelming urge to put his arms around his body and hold tight, but also to shove him and yell at him for leaving him behind and being so stubborn.

"You don't have to go." His voice cracked, and he took a deep breath. "I can- I will fix this."

The tears had now started falling from his eyes, and Harry quickly wiped them away with his palm. Louis gave a short laugh. "Fix this? You can't fix this Harry. There is nothing to fix. We would have gone to the mines this year anyway. Selling a few flowers a day doesn't get you through the winter."

"But I could give you money!" Harry protested. "I could give you enough money for the rest of your life."

"I don't want your money, Harry!" Louis yelled and rose to his feet. "I don't want to live of your alms. And what am I supposed to tell everyone, huh? That I slept my way to gold? That I fucked the Tsar of Russia so that I wouldn't have to work anymore? I don't want your pity or your wealth, I just want _you_ , for God's sake!"

They both fell quiet, and simply stared at each other, panting.

Harrys voice was softer when he said, "And I want you, Louis. So please don't leave."

Louis lifted his head and sadness swept across his face like a flush. "It doesn't matter whether I leave or not- It only speeds up the inevitable. It's not like we had a future anyway, Harry. You will marry some girl, and attend fancy balls, and rule this entire kingdom- and I will still be here. Harvesting flowers and watching you live your live from afar."

"Don't say that," Harry sobbed, wiping away the tears on his cheek.

"What? The truth?"

Harry didn't know what to say anymore. "Don't leave," he pleaded again.

Louis took a step toward him, and suddenly his arms were around Harrys body, holding him tightly. "I have to," he whispered. "I know that I have to let you go eventually, Harry. This can't end well."

"I hate you," Harry pressed between clenched teeth and shoved Louis away from him. "I hate you, Louis Tomlinson!"

Louis shook his head, a watery curtain covering his eyes. "You don't mean that, I know you don't," he murmured. And he was right, Harry knew that. He didn't hate Louis the slightest bit, even though he wanted to. He loved him so much it ached, and that was the painful truth. One last sob escaped his throat, before he turned around, grabbed the rest of his clothes off the floor and walked out the door, slamming it shut behind him.

He leaned his head against the wood of the door and closed his eyes.

"Morning, mate! Why are you up this early?," someone mumbled, followed by a loud yawn. "I couldn't sleep the whole night thanks to you two! Has anyone ever told you how loud you are?" Harry opened his eyes and saw Niall standing in the doorframe to his room, hair disheveled and sleeping marks on his skin. When Niall saw the tear stains on Harry's cheeks and the expression on his face, his smile faltered. "What's wrong?"

"When are you leaving?" Harry croaked.

Niall took a step toward him. "Is everything fine?"

"Just please answer my question."

"November, so we still have time left, and we will return in March. I know that's a long time, but we'll get through. No offence, but shouldn't you know that? As the ruler of this country and all that?"

Harry shook his head, his lips pressed tightly together. "I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault, Harry. We probably would have had to work in the mines anyway, even if it wasn't for that law. Most people would have."

Harry didn't respond, and headed for the door. Before opening it, he choked one last "Goodbye" over his shoulder, before stepping out of the farm house.

He was expecting it to still be night, but the sky was bleached by morning, the stars turned invisible against the near-white of the sky. The only colour to be found in the sky was the dark grey of clouds, curling like ghosts around the fading moon.

It was drizzling, cold pinpricks dashing against his skin. He lifted a palm to the sky, and watched the silvery rain dash down into the hollow of his hand while starting his walk down the dirty and muddy road.

The door flew open behind him, the rusty hinges creaking through the sound of the rain. "Harry, wait!" Louis called. "Please don't leave."

Harry closed his eyes. "When I fell asleep in the palace, you told me that we would win- that you would not let anything else be an option." He turned around to Louis, watching him through the steady grey curtain of water. This rain didn't feel anything like the wild and free thunder storm into which they had screamed their love for each other. This one felt like a weight on his shoulders- like the heaven's shed tears.

"Of course I meant it." Louis voice sounded broken and quiet. "I would do anything to not lose you, Harry. But-" he lifted his arms in the air, helpless, "-I just don't know how. You are you and I am me and we are hopeless. We are destined to be torn apart from each other. Again and again."

Harry looked at Louis through the tiny grey strings between them, then he turned around and left, the tears and raindrops soaking him through and through becoming one.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello guys, sorry for the depressing chapter, but it has to get worse before it can get better, right?
> 
> The story Harry is thinking about during the garden party is a short story by Laini Taylor which obviously wouldn't be written for another few centuries, but who knows? Maybe she's a time traveller. 
> 
> The song inspirations were "Love will tear us apart" by Joy Division, "Hey Hey, My My" by Battleme, and "Hurt" by Johnny Cash (I think that song really fits Harry's situation in the next few chapters)
> 
> Another reminder to please leave a comment or kudos, that would mean a lot to me :)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two princes talk and the sea is yellow.

The rain had given way to a grey sky, the sun hiding behind a wall of clouds. Harry pulled his long legs to his chest and hugged them with his arms, his chin resting on his knees, and watched the shifting of the sky through the window. The steaming water in the gilded bathtub had cooled by now, but wisps of steam were still drifting through the bathroom like fog. 

His vision was blurring as fatigue washed up against him. He wasn't sore- that was the wrong word- soreness was a physical thing, the product of tired muscles, strained bodies, internal friction. But there was an ache all the way down to his core. He was empty, hollow without that spark of life that was Louis Tomlinson and the sunlight in his smile.   
His fight with Louis had been exactly one week ago now- seven days without Louis that seemed more like seven months. 

When he had returned to the palace, wet clothes and hair dripping on the marbled floor and carpet under his feet, he had immediately run to Liam's chambers. There, he had started stammering words that didn't make any sense, Liam asking him what was wrong and telling him to slow down and start from the beginning. 

It was only after he had pulled him into a tight embrace, whispering into his hair that everything was fine and they had sat down on Liam's bed that Harry had finally managed to get out an entire sentence. He had urged Liam to call in a council meeting, to make a new law, to reverse the old one. That he couldn't send thousands of men to Norilsk, that it had been a terrible mistake. 

Liam had heavily sighed and stroked Harrys hair. "You know we can't do that. The men get paid good money and I know how horrible it sounds, but it is the right decision if we don't want half the population to starve this winter." Harry had immediately batted his hand away, rising from the bed, and started to cry again. He had tried again and again, but deep down he knew that Liam was right. It was inevitable. Bad harvest, trading with other countries, diamonds for exchange, workers in the mines. A series of events that all led to the unchangeable fact that Louis and Niall would leave. 

Harry rose to his feet and stood in the bathtub, his calves still half in the water, his skin covered in sparkly drops of it, rolling down his arms and chest like tiny rivers. 

He wrapped a towel around himself and walked into his adjoined chambers, where he dressed himself and lay down on the bed, until the memories of him and Louis in that very bed came flooding back and he rose again. He sat down at the piano, but didn't play anything. 

There was a knock on the door behind him, and his chamber boy Yegor entered the room, clearing his throat. "Prince Zayn wishes to see you."

Harry turned around, surprised. "Why?"

"With all due respect, but why would he tell me?"

Harry shrugged. "I don't know. Why does Prince Zayn do anything of what he does? It never seems to make any sense to me."

Yegor softly chuckled. "I sometimes think the same about you."

Harry lifted his finger and pointed at him. "Careful, Yegor. You're talking to the future Tsar," he said and gave a small smile.

Yegor laughed . Harry tried to muster a grin as well, but laughter had become a rarity since he had left Louis. He sighed heavily and made his way to the saloon where Prince Zayn wanted to meet him. He couldn't help but feel curious as he sauntered through the hallways. 

Upon opening the heavy, ornate doors, he was greeted with the sight of Zayn sitting on a velvet stool, gazing into the distance, while a painter was taking his portrait.   
The room was filled with the rich odour of roses, and when the light summer wind stirred the trees of the garden outside, the heavy scent of lilac came through the open glass doors. 

"Oh, good morning," Zayn said as he saw Harry opening the doors. Harry glanced at the unfinished portrait. It depicted Zayn as he was now, but the painter had given him a thoughtful, slightly suffering expression, and in the picture, he was holding a yellow rose in his hands. All very dramatic.

"Am I interrupting?" Harry asked, pointing at the canvas.

"Oh no, not at all. I was the one who called you here after all." Zayn nodded at the painter and signaled him to leave. After he had closed the door behind him, Zayn rose from his chair, draped himself across a divan, and lit a cigarette. Harry sat down opposite him.

Zayn trailed the purple velvet of the divan he was sitting on with his palms. "Purple velvet could console one for all the miseries of life."

He poured each of them a cup of tea, the cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth.  
"I have grown to adore portraits," he said, and slid Harry's cup in his direction. "There's something so mysterious about them, and it gives one the illusion to be remembered after one's time." His eyes lit up in delight. "We should definitely let us two be painted together. Our beautiful young faces must be remembered before they turn grey and crinkled."

Harry nodded, not sure what to say, and took a sip from his tea. It was steaming hot and burned the inside of his mouth and throat. He quickly set the cup back on the table and pretended that his tongue didn't feel like it was covered in ash. It was summer, for god's sake! "I hope you don't mind me asking why you wished to see me, Prince Zayn?"

"No title, please," Zayn protested. "Titles are nothing but more work for one's mouth and absolutely unnecessary if you ask me. Parents give their children names for a reason. We don't need to add anything to those names, do we?" Harry actually agreed with that, and nodded. 

Zayn regarded him through the blue wreaths of smoke from his cigarette, and eventually said: "As for your question, I wished to see you because as you may know, I'm quite fond of your friend. I almost died of ennui before meeting him, but then he walked into my life and turned my world upside down. I didn't even realise how bland and dull my colourful life actually was before meeting him. Liam has told me so many things about you, and I wanted to let you know that I am in utter love with him. It is not some silly infatuation, but love."

Harry didn't know what he was supposed to reply to that. "Um, okay. You have my blessings?" 

Zayn chuckled. "Thank you." He cocked his head to the side and said in a slow, melodious voice, "I've heard you have also found love," looking at Harry over the heavy clusters of purple tulips that stood in the center of the table. 

Harry swallowed. "No, I… that's over. It could never work out." He stared at the ebony of the table.

Zayn touched the thin stem of one of the flowers with his tanned, fine-pointed fingers. "If it is true love, it works out."

"Not this one."

"Well, do you love him?" 

Harry was overwhelmed by the blunt question, but the answer was simple and yet so complicated. "Yes."

"Then it will work out."

"I'm afraid It's not that easy."

"Everyone always says that, but they're wrong. At its core, love is the most simple thing in this horribly perplexing and confusing world."  
His amber eyes regarded the flowers on the table between them. "There is a famous Persian legend about the creation of red roses. It tells how a nightingale fell in love with a beautiful white rose and flew blindly towards its fragrance. Pierced by a thorn, the nightingale's blood flowed over the white patterns, turning them red." He stopped for one second, and closely watched Harry. "Love hurts, Harry, but that doesn't matter, because it creates the most exquisite things in this world. Don't be scared of the ending, be grateful for the love you have now. What happens after is irrelevant. You love your boy, and you don't let him go, even if it hurts, even if you're scared that it will end in a tragedy- you hold on."

Zayn opened a small box standing on the table, revealing an abundance of neatly aligned cubes of powered, golden Turkish honey. He picked one up and regarded it as if it was a living creature. A smile played on his lips. "Once you've tasted Turkish honey, nothing will ever satisfy your craving for sweetness ever again. Nothing but a secret kiss shared during warm summer nights under the stars. Nothing in life is sweeter than honey and richer than wine than a lover's kiss."

Harry was still thinking about what Zayn had said before, and he abruptly stood up. "I need to go."

Zayn lazily placed the honey cube in his mouth. "I know."

Harry was already darting to the door, but paused for another moment, and turned around to Zayn. "Thank you."

Zayn shrugged and smiled at him. "You would've figured it out yourself eventually."

Harry smiled back. "Look after Liam for me. He may seem as if he always knows what he's doing, but he doesn't. Not always. He just hates admitting to his weaknesses. And he really needs someone to look after him."

Zayn looked up at him, for once solemn and serious. "I will. I promise."

"Good." And with that, Harry opened the doors and sprinted to the palace gates. Time to get his boy back.

***

The fields rushed past as the carriage raced down the by-now familiar dirty road to the farmhouse. 

Before the carriage had even properly halted, Harry was already outside, the driver steering the horses in the other direction again. Harry slowed down and walked to the wooden door. He took a deep breath before loudly knocking against it. 

It was immediately ripped open by a smiling Niall. Niall was always smiling. Without greeting Harry, he only said: "He's behind the house. Follow me." 

He led Harry to the back door and pointed at a black silhouette harvesting sunflowers with a big rake. The afternoon sun was blazing in the sky, the same colour as the flowers. Niall gave Harry a small push toward Louis. "Go on. Took you long enough as it is."

Harry gave him a thankful smile and made his way through the sea of tall flowers. Louis apparently spotted him from the corner of his eyes, setting down the rake and turning to him, expression unreadable. Harry had laid out words in the carriage, planning what to tell Louis once he saw him again, but now his mind was completely blank. _He looks so beautiful_ , Harry thought.

They stared at each other, blue eyes in green ones, and then Harry took a deep breath. "Louis, I-," he began uneasily, but his voice gave out and she swallowed and started again. "Louis, I'm sorry. You were right, this-" he motioned between the two of them- "Can't work out." He could hear Louis take in a sharp breath, and the line of his jaw tightening. "There is no possible solution where the two of us could end up together. But I don't care if it's possible or not. If anyone can defy all laws of the universe and perform the impossible… it's us. So I don't care what will happen in the future, I just know that you're here right now, and that I love you and that I will hold on for as long as humanly possible. Maybe even forever."

Louis didn't respond, his expression unreadable. "Would you please say something Louis?" Harry whispered, and Louis' face softened. 

"Come here," he muttered. Harry took a step toward him, and Louis pulled him into his arms. "How could I ever be mad at you, Harry?" he whispered into his hair and tightened the embrace even more. Harry let out a quiet choke, cradled Louis' cheeks in his hands, and gave him a kiss. 

He felt Louis' smile curving against his mouth. Harry broke the kiss to look at him. It was a smile so beautiful it ached. The crinkles at the corners of his eyes were merry and asquint with unselfconscious happiness. If he was beautiful when grave- and he was- smiling, he was nothing short of glorious. 

Louis rested his forehead against Harry's. "I love you so much."

"I love you too," Harry whispered.

As the sun slipped over the horizon, lining everything with gold, the yellow sea of flowers around them moved in the faint breeze like rippling water, surrounding two boys drowning in it as if they were trying to protect them from the rest of the world. An impossibly small, bright universe, that was their own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, that fight didn't last too long now, did it? ;)
> 
> Songs: "Just add water" by Cavetown, "Crown of Love" by Arcade Fire and "You're the one for me" by Delta Rae.
> 
> I hope you're enjoying it so far, if so, please leave a comment or a kudos, that would be amazing! (They always make me really happy) :)


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry plays the piano with a new weight on his head.

The summer passed in a blur, all warm days under the sun and nights under a canopy of stars and dreams. Cool limbs entwined beneath a white sheet, lingering and sweet kisses, lips straying from lips to taste to taste the curves of each other's throats and shoulders, the palms of hands, the fluttering fragility of eyelids, the smooth, arched valleys of backs. Shared laughter and jokes, kisses and glances.

Harry tried to avoid his duties in the palace as much as he could, only doing the bare minimum of what he was expected to. Liam urged him numerous times to finally choose a wife, but Harry postponed the decision further and further. 

He was happy. This summer was the best one he had had in a very long time, the only thing sinking that feeling the impending doom that was the shift of seasons when Louis would travel up north to the cold darkness of Siberia.

But everything has to end at some point, even the infinity he felt when he was with Louis, and it came on a cool September day as Tsar Vladimir eventually succumbed to the mysterious illness that had plagued him for such a long time now. Harry was woken by Liam, who didn't say anything, because he didn't have to. Harry had known immediately. 

He hadn't cried- hadn't even shed a single tear. Maybe it was cruel and barbaric, but he felt a strange sort of relief when he saw Liam standing above him that night, eyes grave and sad. It had felt like a weight lifted off his shoulders.   
But that weight was quickly replaced by the even heavier one of the imperial crown of Russia. 

The day of the coronation was a fairly cold one, the summer slowly beginning to give way to cool gusts of wind and orange leaves. On the morning of the coronation he made his procession to the Dormition cathedral, commencing at the Red Porch and ending at the church doors, where he was blessed by bishops and kissed the cold Holy Cross. 

Harry chose an exquisitely embroidered robe with intricate birds and butterflies in a hundred colours for the ceremony. He could feel the people staring at it as he walked past them. Some sneered as they saw his attire, some smiled in awe and admiration. The people of Moscow were lining the streets as he walked by, hundreds of eyes on him. Louis was watching, too. 

Harry had invited him to the church for the actual ceremony, and he was grateful for it, because as he slowly lowered the red silk of the crown on his head, took the sceptre and turned around, staring at all the faces before him, he could make out Louis', looking at him- steadying him. And when Harry felt like he was drowning on that grand golden throne, Louis' face was like an anchor, tethering him to sanity. The magnificent marble hall of the church, with its dripping shimmer of chandeliers and filigree of polished gold, faded to the background, leaving only Louis there. And with that, Harry knew that as long as Louis was there, he was invincible. He was fine. 

The Metropolitan recited his speech, and Harry couldn't help but stare at the ground as he did. _"Most God-fearing, absolute, and mighty Lord, Tsar of all the Russians, the visible and tangible adornment of thy head is an eloquent symbol that thou, as the head of the whole Russian people, art invisibly crowned by the King of kings, Christ, with a most ample blessing, seeing that He bestows upon thee authority over His people"._

Sometimes Harry wondered why he had been born into his position. Why he had been chosen to become the most powerful man in Russia, the wealthiest. His father always said it was God's will that they be the rulers of this empire, that God had chosen them. But Harry had stopped believing in that a long time ago because it would suggest that God had shrugged off all the other people in this empire, flicked them away like cigarette butts by the thousand. People who would be much better at ruling than him, leaving them poor and powerless, destined to starve on the streets. No, Harry's higher believe these days was simply chance. 

As he sat on the throne and looked at all the people before him, he suddenly felt a twinge of… jealousy. He felt jealous that these people didn't have this weight atop their heads, weren't bound back with chains and separated from their lover by bars. He knew it wasn't fair to feel this way, that he was the luckiest man in the country and envied by thousands upon thousands of people, but he couldn't help it. He would give up all of it in the flash of second for a life with Louis on his farm, planting flowers, spending cool winter mornings in bed, their bodies keeping each other warm, watching children of their own run through the fields…

The thought made him want to start running, escape from all of this and just follow the sun, somewhere far away where no one knew who he was and the crown didn't rest atop his head. But he held his place, tightly gripping the side of the chair and the cold scepter, his eyes fixed on the colourful windowpanes. 

He wanted nothing more than to be young and free, not get lost in the dark of the night- but he also knew that despite the future in his life he couldn't foresee, with Louis next to him, he'd be alright. 

***

The evening darkened in the room. Noiselessly, and with silver feet, the shadows crept in from the direction of the windows and the dark city below. The colours faded wearily out of things. 

Harry eased himself onto the piano bench, so much more comfortable than the golden throne he had been sitting in for the last few hours. He was only clad in his trousers, his shirt was laying somewhere on the floor next to Louis' where they had passionately tossed them earlier, after finally escaping the festivities and infinite congratulations of the coronation while entering Harry's chambers. 

Harry let his fingers stray across the familiar black and white ivory of the keys. "Can you play something for me?" Louis asked from where he was laying on the bed, arms and legs spread apart, his still slightly sweaty chest heaving and lowering in a steady rhythm, hair completely disheveled from the traces Harry's fingers had left in it. 

Harry usually didn't like playing in front of other people since his mother had passed away, only at night when no one was listening had he sat down at the piano and played for hours, the melody taking him back to a time when he had given small concerts to his family, his chubby cheeks flushed with pride and excitement. But with Louis it was different- He wanted to play something for him, reveal that part of himself just like he had revealed all the other ones. There were no walls or boundaries with Louis- he could just be Harry, without anything covering him, because Louis' gaze already felt like he was looking through his skin and flesh, at everything behind that. 

Harry started playing softly, his fingers nearly fondling the keys. The harmony started drifting through the room, out of the slightly ajar window, mingling with the cool night air which swallowed the sound before it could reach the sleeping city below- like the music was a secret that had to be kept within the room between them, not made for anyone else's ears. 

Harry didn't hear Louis coming up behind him, the soft creaking of the floorboards drowned out by the quiet thrumming of the keys, until he felt something slide on the top of his head- the crown. Louis softly lowered it on his hair, then slid his arms around Harry's torso, his chin resting on Harry's shoulder. His fingers faltered on the keys. "I don't want to wear that crown."

Louis' lips traced the shell of his ear, his warm breath caressing his neck, as he replied: "Well, I want you to wear it. I just put it where it belongs."

"I only want to be a king beside you."

"Believe me Harry. You always are."

Louis eased himself onto the bench next to Harry and rested his head in Harry's lap, legs crossed. Harry smiled down at him and gently brushed a strand out of his face that had gotten caught in his eyelashes. "What were you playing before?" Louis asked and regarded Harry hovering above him. 

" _Glinka's Mazurka in C minor_. My mother loved his works. I remember how excited she would get every time we went to the opera to see _'A life for the Tsar'_. She really loved that one."

"What's it about?" Louis lifted a finger and gently traced Harry's jawline with it. It sent shivers down Harry's spine.

"The opera?"

"Mmh."

"The events that took place when the Polish wanted to overthrow the Russians and murder the new Tsar Mikhail, the first of the Romanov dynasty, but a simple peasant gave his life for the Tsar and saved him."

"Ivan Susanin?"

"Yes, him. So you do know the story."

"I think Niall's parents told us the story one time. I remember how proud they looked that a simple farmer could be remembered forever- that he was a national hero."

Harry leaned down to kiss him, a kiss as soft as moonlight. "I will miss you," he murmured.

"I'll miss you too." Louis paused for a moment before he continued. "You know what? Run away with me. Fuck this empire. Fuck the entire world. I'll build us our own pocket universe where it's just you and me. No one else but us." He shook his head, huffing a quiet laugh. "That's what I would want, anyway. But then again… you belong here, Harry. You belong to this palace and that crown."

"I don't belong anywhere but with you."

Louis' eyes twinkled, but Harry could tell it was a sad kind of twinkle. "What would you do if you could fly, Harry?"

"I'd always be flying to you. Preferably somewhere far away from here."

"Away from this?" Louis asked, pointing at the crown. Harry swallowed, and nodded.   
"I don't think you should, as much as I would like it," Louis said. "I know you think it's a curse, but it's also a gift, Harry. You could do a lot of good with it. You don't want to be the Tsar, Harry, but that's exactly what makes you perfect for it. The people most suited for that much power are usually the ones who don't want it."   
He smiled up at Harry, and Harry wanted to grab the edges of this moment like a blanket and wrap it around himself like a cocoon, wanted to live in it forever. "Can you play some more?" Louis asked, nuzzling his nose in Harry's stomach. 

After leaning down to give him a kiss, Harry started playing on the piano again, the soft melody enclosing them, building a wall from the rest of the world- This hidden, vulnerable part of Harry for Louis' eyes and ears only. 

As his fingers travelled over the keys, Louis slowly sat up and whispered something in Harry's ear, the words travelling through Harry's entire body, tickling and caressing every spot within him. "Birds don't belong in cages," Louis said, his lips warm against Harry's ear. "They should fly."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the shameless and way too-obvious 'Ready to Run' references during the coronation, I hope it didn't take you out of the story too much, but I think that song is absolutely perfect for this scene...
> 
> So, as Harry tells Louis, the song he plays is Glinka's "Mizurka and C-minor" , but another song I imagined this scene to, is the "Moonlight Sonata" by Bach.
> 
> The other song inspiration for this chapter is "Beautiful Birds" by Birdy feat. Passenger. 
> 
> Thanks for reading and to everyone who's written a comment so far, you guys make mine and Androgyne's days! :)


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One last night that ends with a promise.

Harry was laying on his bed, limbs spread apart, eyes fixed on the ceiling. He felt numb, even though his thoughts were racing in his head, spinning in circles and getting tangled up, one huge mess of emotions and words.

_Good-bye Harry. Good-bye Liam._

When Liam had sidled into his room, tickling him awake, and had told him that he was going to leave Russia, Harry had taken the news rather well. Or at least had pretended he had. In reality, one word had kept flashing in his mind like a mantra. _No no no no no no no._

He had wanted to scream at Liam, cry, be mad at him for leaving him behind- for betraying him like that. But he hadn't done any of those things. Instead, he had just sat there, listening to Liam and giving him his blessing, while secretly fighting back his tears. But there had been no way of talking Liam out of this, not when his brown eyes had been so hopeful, shining with excitement about this grand adventure.

Harry knew Liam wasn't happy here, didn't like the life at court and all the restrictions that came with it. But the two of them- Harry and Liam- had always stuck together, having each other's back at any time. It had always been a given that when Harry didn't know what to do, when he was overwhelmed by everything, needed someone beside him, he only had to turn his head and Liam would be there, being that person Harry needed.

Just the thought of looking to his side to find that spot empty made Harry's innards churn and he fought back a new wave of tears. The day his mother and sister had died, Liam had promised him. _I know you've lost your family, but you will always have a brother by your side who will never leave you. I promise._

Lies. Lies, Lies, Lies. Everyone left. His mother, his sister, his father, Niall, Louis, Liam.

It was an ever-growing list, and Harry was tired of adding names to it. He was tired of people leaving him behind.

Harry wanted to feel happy for Liam, he really did, but he also felt hot anger boiling in his stomach, and immediately felt guilty for it. But he couldn't help it- couldn't help the jealously twinging in his veins about Liam leaving the court with Prince Zayn- that he had a choice. Harry didn't even have that. Liam could leave, live in some faraway land for the rest of his life, while Harry would still be here, longing for a life he could never have. A life with a choice.

Harry knew that he was acting like a little, stubborn boy, being jealous of Liam for being free, and angry at Zayn for stealing his best friend, snagging him away to some distant whimsical place. He felt replaced. Ruling without Liam by his side would be impossible. He had always relied on him for everything, known exactly that Liam would always know what to do. Without him, there was no chance he could do it. Trying to push down these thoughts didn't help, they always came bubbling back up. He was lost.

_***_

"Do you think you'll already be married when I come back?" Louis asked, letting his bare feet dangle into the current next to them.

Harry tried to put his feet in the river as well, but quickly pulled them out again at the realisation of how cold the water was. It was Louis' last day in Moscow, and one of those that were like a parting kiss of summer, warm sunlight already mingling with cool gusts of wind and the leaves starting to look like they were on fire. Their reflections gleamed on the waters of the river, slightly obscured by the running current, like a smudged oil painting.

"No, I don't think so. We can't let such a large amount of the population miss the royal wedding. I suppose it'll be in the spring, given that I will have found a fiancée by then…"

Harry saw Louis clench his jaw, his eyes stubbornly fixed on the surface of the water, fingers determinedly plucking scattered blades of the lush green grass. "Have you?"

"Have I what?"

"Found a fiancée already?"

"Why? Are you jealous?"

Louis glared at him, lips tightly pressed together. "No. Just curious. Is one not allowed to be curious about the Tsar's spouse?"

"Sure, whatever you say. But… what are those?" Harry pointed at a spot on Louis' cheek, furrowing his brows. "I think… No, I must be mistaken… Are those little green specks on your skin? Yes, they are everywhere. My God, maybe you _are_ jealous!"

Louis batted his finger away. "You are a ridiculous human-being, Harry Styles."

Harry smiled cheekily. "Am I?" His smile faded a bit, leaving only a sad glimmer in his eyes. "I just don't want us to talk about this on your last day. I don't want to fight."

Louis sighed and put his hand on Harry's cheek, leaning in for a soft kiss. "You're right. Let's not think about it." Harry saw a mischievous glint in his eye, a cocky smile tugging at his lips. "I want you to remember this night for the rest of your life."

"Oh, I'm sure I will," Harry whispered against his mouth, deepening the kiss.

A crack of twigs made both of them jump and turn around. Niall was standing there, his head red, hands in his pockets.

"What the hell are you doing here, Niall?" Louis growled, glaring at Niall who seemed oblivious to what an inconvenient time he had chosen to intrude. "Sorry, I didn't mean to disrupt, but I just thought I'd say good-bye to you, Harry, before the two of you start going at it and I won't dare to come near you anymore. So… Bye."

Harry scrambled to his feet and walked over to Niall. "Good-bye, Niall. Thank you for everything." He put his arms around Niall's shoulders and held him tightly.

"I'm going to miss you, H," Niall mumbled into his cheek, before letting go again.

"Are you done over there?" Louis asked from where he was sitting on the grass. "We're working with a time limit here, you know?"

"Well, when you say it like that… maybe I'll just stay here with you guys. You wouldn't mind it, would ya? The scenery here is so beautiful, a wonderful spot to spend your last night in Moscow."

Harry bit back a laugh at the expression on Louis' face.  
"I honestly can't tell if you're joking, but I also don't really care right now, Horan. The only thing I care about is for you to kindly fuck off now, thank you very much."

Niall threw up his hands in defeat. "Alright, alright, I'm already leaving, you see?"

"Thank you, Niall," Louis called after him, but Harry could see the smile on his face.

"Good-bye," Harry shouted, before Niall disappeared behind the trees again.

Harry looked at Louis sitting on the river's edge, the dying sun coming through in red slashes and ribbons, illuminating Louis' face and hair, his smile. A vague, faded idea on the moon was already visible on the sky, getting brighter and stronger as the minutes passed by.

Minutes spent with locking lips and teasing tongues, until they were spent and heavy, and the night had laid itself upon them, silently creeping up, taking them by surprise as they finally tore their eyes from each other. A handful of stars were already able to make out, small dots on the darkening sky.

Harry curled his toes in the dewy grass, enjoying the slick cool of it. Louis lay back on the emerald carpet, his arms spread wide as if trying to embrace the sky. "Do you sometimes look at the stars and wish you were them?"

Harry pondered it for a while, until he shook his head and dragged his eyes to Louis lying next to him. "No. I think I'd much rather be the moon."

"Why?"

"There are so many stars, but only one moon. You were the one who once told me I shouldn't be anything short of extraordinary."

"Well, you aren't. There's a lot of things that you are, Harry Styles, but ordinary definitely isn't one of them."

Louis sat up again, his shoulders slightly slumped forward, a sad look shadowing his features. "Harry, I need you to promise me something." Harry crinkled his brows, trying to catch Louis' eyes, but Louis was staring at the dewy grass. "I need you to remember that I love you. No matter what happens-" his voice cracked, and he took a breath. "Please remember that."

Harry started ripping out a handful of the grass, stubbornly avoiding Louis' gaze. "I wouldn't have to promise that if you stayed."

Louis gave a frustrated sigh. "Harry, we've been over this. And you were right, I really don't want to fight during our last night together. And besides, what'd that grass ever do to you?" Harry loosened his grip on the stems and closed his eyes. Louis was right, he knew that. "Harry… please."

Harry stretched out his little finger and slightly crooked it. "Only if you promise to remember me as well." Louis linked his finger with Harry's, just like they had done as little boys. Louis slowly threaded his other fingers through Harry's one by one, callused skin grazing Harry's palms. Harry's rings flashed and Louis' scars glowed in the moonlight. Both of them held on.

They eventually lay back down on the forest floor, side by side, their hands still linked between them. Harry wanted to memorize Louis' scent, the touch of his skin, and the solidness of his body next to his own. No matter what happened, he would always remember this for the rest of his life.

Harry turned his head to study Louis' profile, silhouetted against the darkness of the night. His lips, his nose, his eyelashes. He was almost achingly beautiful.

Louis slowly opened his eyes and turned his head to look at him. "You know, Harry, we've come a long way from those two boys playing hide-and-seek in the sunflower fields and befriending flowers."

"I think we've come no way at all. The two of us are still the same, only the rest of the world has changed."

"And I've got a beard now."

"Barely."

"More than you, your Majesty."

"But I at least have chest hair."

Louis snorted. "I've never seen any of that. I don't think you can count two lonely hairs on your stomach as chest hair."

Harry pouted, and Louis gave him a half-smile, tugging him into his arms. "Maybe you're right. We really haven't changed." Harry wrapped an arm around his waist and rested his head in the hollow of his shoulder. Louis idly stoked his hair.

Harry didn't want to sleep- didn't want to lose a minute with him- but fatigue was wrapping itself around him, dragging him down. Until all he knew was the touch of Louis' fingers in his hair and the sound of his breathing next to him. As the darkness started to swallow him despite his desperate efforts to stay awake, Harry thought he heard him speak, lips close to his ear. "I love you, Harry Styles," he whispered. "Thorns and all."

_***_

When Harry woke up the next morning, golden autumn sunlight tickling him awake, he didn't need to open his eyes to know Louis was gone. It was as if he could feel the empty space Louis had left beside him, as if he had lost a limb. He didn't want to open his eyes, didn't want to see the bare patch of emerald grass where Louis should be, and accept the truth that Louis had left.

But when he eventually did open his eyes, he couldn't help the small smile tugging on his lips, that eventually broadened to a wide grin. Turning his head to look at the spot next to him, there was no sign of the boy that had been laying there only hours before but the slightly creased grass- and a flower. A single small flower in Louis' stead, looking like a promise, an oath.

_A forget-me-not._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi guys! 
> 
> I hoped you enjoyed this chapter, and I just wanted to let you know that I'll probably be posting the next chapter a bit later than usual (there's just a lot of stuff going on right now, but I'll get back to writing as soon a possible)
> 
> Alright, the songs for this chapter are "No Goodbyes" by Dua Lipa, "Just like Heaven" by The Watson Twins, "Remember me" by Gavin James and "The Tide" by our own dear Mr. Niall Horan.
> 
> Thanks again so much for reading and I hope you have a wonderful day/night! :)


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cold winter months.

The first snow of winter had begun whipping through Moscow three hours earlier. The ground had finally frozen solid last week, and by the time Harry had finished his breakfast, washed down with a heady cup of honey-wine, the streets were dusted with a thick layer of white powder. Now he was frowning at the whirling snow behind the leaded glass windows, his thoughts starting to drift away…

"And this is Yasha, and Yusuf, and Farid, and this is Fil- that means elephant. He was a gift from my brother Zayn," Zarah babbled. She was introducing Harry to all her dolls and other stuffed animals, as it was appropriate for a proper tea party. They were sitting in a circle on the ground of her chambers, Harry's feet awkwardly crossed to avoid kicking the dolls.  
"I really miss him. I know I shouldn't say this- but he's my favorite brother." Harry looked at the girl again, and saw her staring at the carpet, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of one of her doll's dresses. 

"Zayn?" he asked, voice soft.

"Yes. He returned home a few weeks ago and it feels like a needle is stabbing in my heart every minute he's gone and I can't talk to him and he can't tell me a bedtime story. Zayn always tells the best bedtime stories."

"I know how you feel, Zarah," Harry murmured and offered a small smile.

"Do you miss someone as well?" she asked, a small frown on her face.

"Yes, I do. And every minute without him feels like there's a hole in my chest that sends an ache through my entire body."

"Who do you miss?"

"I miss a lot of people. One of them is the man who went with your brother. He's also like a brother to me. But your brother makes my brother very happy, and I'm grateful for that."

"Who else do you miss?"

"Well, I also miss my mother and my sister a lot. I haven't seen them in a very long time, and I probably won't be seeing them in the very near future, so I've already learned to live with those holes in my chest, even though they still hurt a bit every day."  
He stopped for a moment in which he smiled at Zarah and the little girl smiled back and took his very big hand in her very small one to comfort him. "And I'll also be missing you a great deal once you return home to your brother."

"But maybe I will be staying a bit longer, if you choose to propose to my sister."

A shadow crossed Harry's face. "Do you want me to propose to her?"

Zarah swayed her head from left to right, pondering his question. "I would like you to be a family member of mine, and I would love to help you two pick out your garments for the wedding- I'm sure they will be absolutely magnificent. But I don't know if you love her, and I also don't know if she loves you, because you never look at her like my brother looked at your's and how you look when you're staring at something and obviously caught in a daydream about someone else. Like you were doing just a few minutes ago."

Harry opened his mouth to protest, but the words wouldn't leave his mouth. Instead, he just gave her another sad smile. "You're very smart, Zarah. But I'm afraid I'll never get to marry the person I truly love."

Zarah nodded in understanding. "Qitura said so, too." She looked up at him, eyes big. "If I tell you a secret, will you swear to never tell another soul?" Harry raised one of his hands and placed the other one on his chest. "I promise."

She leaned forward and motioned for Harry to do the same. "My sister also loves someone else. But she isn't allowed to, because the people say it's wrong for a girl to love another girl. But Qitura says she doesn't care about other people, as long as she and her lover are safe."

Harry leaned back again. "I also have a secret," he whispered. "I haven't told you about the biggest hole in my chest yet. The person I love- he's also gone. He's travelled north with all the other men and every day without him feels like I'm hollow inside and all my body consists of is this hollow ache that you also feel when you think of your brother. I know what it's like for your sister." 

Zarah nodded in understandment. "I think Qitura needs someone who understands her. Maybe you can both love somebody else together."

***

Harry took a deep breath, before determinedly knocking at the dark wooden door. 

"Yes?" a voice inside called.

Harry opened the door, revealing Qitura standing by the open window, cold gusts of wind and snowflakes blowing inside the room. 

When Qitura saw him, her expression loosened a bit and a small smile played on her lips. "Hello, your Majesty."  
Harry gave her a small bow and joined her by the icy window. "I'm sorry for the cold, it's just that I'm not very used to snow and I'm quite mesmorized by it."

Harry smiled and caught one of the big flakes in the palm on his hand where he watched it turn invisible and melt into a tiny drop on his skin. "I can imagine."

"What gives me the honour of your visit, your Majesty?" Qitura asked, her gaze fixed on the snowy rooftops of the Kremlin's cathedrals outside the window.

"I know of you and your maid."

He watched as Qitura's face turned white and she stumbled backwards, her hands quivering with the shock of his words. "Your Majesty, I-," she stammered, but Harry took a step toward her and took her hands in his. 

"It's fine. Please don't be afraid. I won't tell a single soul. I know how you feel. I'm in love with a man. The most incredible, beautiful, magnificent boy I've ever met. But still a boy. The people try to tell us it's wrong, they don't understand us. But the heart wants what it wants, and we're both in love. Which is why I'm here to ask you to marry me." Qitura blinked at him, the confusion clearly written on her face. At least a little bit of colour had returned to her cheeks. 

"I don't understand…" 

Harry gently pulled her by her hands to the big bed and they both sat on the soft covers. "Think about it. We can never marry the person we're truly in love with. So let's marry each other, but you'll still be with the maid of yours and I can be with the boy I love. He's a flower farmer. Your maid could stay here with you."

Slowly, a hesitant smile crept on her face and her eyes started glowing. She threw her arms around him. "Thank you! Thank you so much!"

Harry hugged her back. "No, thank you. And please call me Harry. Now that you're my fiancée, I guess it's appropriate."

Qitura let go of him again and tucked a loose strand of her raven-black hair behind her ear. "What's his name? Your lover's."

Harry gave her a quiet smile. "Louis." It pleased him to say it. Harry might have been the one whose name meant home, but his sounded like it. Saying it made him want to sing it, to lean out a window and scream it to the world. To whisper it in the dark. 

Since Louis had left, a lot of his nights had been spent like that. Thinking of Louis with his hand wrapped around his length, summoning all the pictures and memories of Louis' laugh, his voice, his moaning, their nights spent together, until he finally reached his peak and lay breathless and spent and empty on his bed, his world so clearly Louis-less and aching. The space next to him too empty and cold. 

Louis was gone, yet he was still everywhere. No matter where Harry looked, he always saw Louis there. He saw him on the council table, the throne room, his bed, the market, the gardens, and all the flowers that grew in it. He saw him in the night sky and the sunlight and the lines of his palm. He saw him behind his closed eyelids. Louis was everywhere, yet still impossibly unreachable. 

"Harry?" Qitura brought him back from his longing thoughts. He looked up at her grateful face. "He'll be fine, and so will you. We'll all be," she said and put an arm around his shoulders. Harry rested his head on her's. Two people joining forces to not have to fight the world -or themselves- alone anymore. "I think what we're doing is utterly foolish," she murmured. 

"Yes. It probably is. _Duran_. Fools. We're both fools."

"Love makes everyone a fool. That's maybe the best thing about it."

***

Winter passed slowly and draggingly. The snow fell and fell, covering all of the Kremlin and the city and fields around it in a thick layer of white cold. Harry did everything in his power to keep busy. 

Work helped. Keeping busy, keeping focused- He sometimes dreaded the quiet, idle days when all those thoughts snared at him at last. When there was nothing but him and his mind, and all those memories of Louis and the feeling of missing him. Mercifully, these days became very rare, a lot of time being spent on the organization of the wedding, answering letters, and the ruling of an entire Empire, in general. 

November became December, which eventually became January, until the white brilliant January landscape, too, gave way to the bleary grey clouds of February. 

Said clouds were now drifting past on the dark sky as Harry watched them through the window, pretending to listen to the people's chatter around him. Try as he might, he couldn't bring himself to pay attention to these people's conversations, given the exited, merry flutter in his stomach as he thought of Louis returning home in just a few weeks. He had to bite back a grin at the mere thought of it, and also had to physically restrain himself from jumping on the dinner table they were seated around and perform a lovely rendition of Kalinka Malinka - an old Russian folk song. 

Qitura, who was seated next to him at the long dark wooden table, softly nudged his leg with her own and gave him a knowing look, her eyebrows raised, a tiny smirk on her lips. She knew, of course, the reason for his good mood. Delight gleamed in her eyes. 

Such good moods were normally rare for them at these dinners. Holding court at a table full of sovereigns, counts, barons, and distant relatives of the royal family, all of facile smiles and fickle allegiancies who seemed to be eating up every elocution-perfected word out of his mouth, was normally not an evening activity they both looked forward to. 

Qitura usually spent her nights in her maiden's chamber, their laughter luckily muffled and near-undetectable through the thick, golden doors of the palace.  
Harry, on the other hand, had spent his winter night laying in his cold and empty bed, watching the pools of midnight shift on the floor, his longing nearly a physical, touchable thing in the oven-heated air. 

Harry turned his attention to the people seated around the table again, trying to listen to their conversations, when suddenly, there was a knock on the door and his chamber boy Yegor entered the room. "Excuse me, your Majesty. I'm very sorry to interrupt, but there's urgent news I need to deliver," he said, his back straight, his expression blank and serious, though Harry could hear the slight tremble in his words; see the sad gleam in his eyes. 

Harry slowly set down his cup of honey-wine and swallowed. "Yes?" he said, noticing his shaky words, even though he didn't know why. The people in the room had gone quiet, only the clunks of the cutlery being sat down and the last bites being swallowed to be heard. 

"There's been an accident in the mines in Norilsk. One of the mines collapsed and buried the workers in it. From the information so far, we have to estimate around ten dead men and at least fifty more injured or wounded. The men with lesser injuries were sent home early, the men with life-threatening injuries are being treated in a nearby manor. The reason for the collapse of the mine shaft is still unknown. Probably loose rocks or an earth quake. Bad luck." 

There was a swoosh in Harry's ears which made all of the words being spoken sound like he was underwater, watching the scene unfold through the surface. He couldn't get out any words, couldn't come up with a response, couldn't think, couldn't breathe... 

"How will this accident affect the diamond raid this year? Will it mess up our trading strategy with foreign countries? How big is the loss in resources?!" one of the men at the table wanted to know. Michail Wolkonski, a sovereign whose entire business consisted of trading diamonds and gold to the expanse of all those people with less money than him. 

Yegor seemed to be a bit taken aback by the question. "I- I'm not sure, milord. I don't have any further details. It seemed more urgent to inquire the whereabouts of the affected men. If any lives were lost, if the injured men will make it…" Wolkonski frowned across the table and angrily drowned the rest of his wine. 

"Do you have any names, Yegor?" Harry could hear himself say. He felt guilty for it, but the only thing he could think about was Louis and Niall. 

"No, your Majesty, but a few of the survivors are already back in Moscow. They are currently being tended to by the hospital in the city." He seemed to hesitate a bit before continuing. "There- there's one of them here though. He demands an audience with you." 

Harry leaped to his feet at those words, the feet of his heavy chair screeching across the floor. 

"I'm not sure if now's the time for taken an audience with one of the mine workers, your Majesty," protested one of the men with a huff of a laugh. 

Harry glared at him. "I decide whether it's the time or not," he hissed. "There's a man asking to see me and maybe in need of help and I may be damned if I send him away to dine and chat for another four hours." He turned to Qitura who gave him a reassuring, caring smile. She quickly squeezed his hand, before Harry strode through the room to the doors and yanked them open. 

Once he was in the hallway, his walk turned into a sprint, until he was racing through to the front gates, not paying attention to the looks of the shocked servants he bypassed. The blood was thrumming in his ears, his throat had gone dry and there were tiny black stars dancing at the edges of his vision. 

He hurried down the enormous staircase to the entrance hall and ordered the guards to open the gates. They did as they were told, and Harry stood in the gilded marble hall, breathless and light-headed, while the doors were slowly being pulled open. 

But it was not the head of brown, feathery hair he had expected to see that came through the golden doors. Instead, Niall's shock of a light, wheat-coloured halo appeared on the other side of them. The dark of the night spilled inside the golden palace walls, bringing with them a cool gust of wind and a dirty, dingy Niall Horan. 

Harry could feel his shoulders slump and his hands beginning to tremble as he looked behind Niall, only to see the golden palace gates and blanket of snow on the gravel beyond, no sign of Louis. 

Niall and Harry looked at each other for one long moment, before they both crossed the space between them with large steps and threw their arms around each other. Harry didn't care for the looks the guards were giving them. But the pounding question in Harry's core remained, repeated over and over again until it was all he could register. _Where's Louis? Where's Louis? Where's Louis?_

He pulled away from Niall, his hands still gripping his slim shoulders. As his eyes travelled over Niall's body, he noticed how thin he had become; noticed the bandaged left arm and the dirt on his pale face- noticed the streaks in the dirt on his cheeks, left by tears. 

"Come with me," he whispered in a hoarse voice and took Niall's uninjured arm, pulling him to the staircase and in the direction of his chambers. Niall followed him without words, the expression on his face for once not jolly and delighted, but grave and sincere. Harry didn't want to know the reason behind it; didn't know what to do once the words would leave Niall's mouth. 

Upon reaching the doors to Harry's chambers, he immediately pulled them open and led Niall inside. "Tell me," he said breathlessly once they were both inside and he'd closed the door behind them. "Please, tell me," his voice cracked, and he said it again.  
"Are you alright? Is-… Is he alright?"

_Please don't tell me. Don't say it._

Niall turned around to him with that sad expression that was so foreign on his face.  
"I-," he started, but had to take a deep breath before continuing. "I'm alright. I'm fine." He rubbed a hand over his face, eyes darting around the room. He let the hand drop to his side again and looked at Harry. "I'm alright thanks to him. Louis saved me, Harry. We were working in the mine shaft, when there was suddenly this loud rumble and debris started falling off the slab, and then that debris started becoming rocks and then everyone was running- trying to get out. It was a huge mess and I didn't even know where the exit was anymore and there was no air, and-" he stopped again and another tear slid down his cheek.  
Harry felt his knees going week, the pounding in his ears easing off to a steady throbbing, his palms covering in sweat as his fingers dug into them. "I started panicking. I've never been good with tight spaces, and I didn't know what to do, so I just sat down and covered my ears and was afraid. It was so loud and dusty and I couldn't breathe- But then Louis was suddenly there and he took my arm and pulled me through the tunnel until we reached the hoist. We were so close… There wasn't enough space left in the hoist, it was already full of men trying to get out. So Louis- he stayed down there. He said he'd take the next one, that he'd be there soon. He found space for me, yelled at the men to move closer together so I would still fit inside. But then a huge chunk of debris fell down and he was gone. He made it to the other side, though. Well, most of him- That mine shaft turned into a tomb, Harry. A giant mass grave. They dug up everyone they could find- most of them they didn't bring up in one piece, though. Louis's in one of those manors where they tend the ones that were injured the worst. I wanted to see him, but he was still unconscious and I- I couldn't stand to look at him. His leg- Half of him was buried under one of those rocks, and I don't know- I don't know how bad it is. So I came here. Figured you'd want to know. I came here to tell you that he's alive. We're both alive. Louis saved me, and took the whole brunt for it." He was now fully crying, red splotches appearing on his face. 

Harry crossed the distance between them, gathered him in an embrace and softly pulled him on his bed. Niall rested his forehead against Harry's shoulder, his whole body shaking with sobs. 

Harry could feel as tears started running down his cheeks as well and his heart clenched as if someone had laid their fingers around it and started compressing it. Louis was injured. Louis was in Norislk. Louis was injured. 

"Sorry," Niall said after a while and looked up at Harry. "I just- I can't lose him too, you know? I've already lost my father in the mines, I can't- I _can't_ lose Louis there, too. And I'm… I'm scared. Hell, I'm scared out of my goddamn mind."

Harry attempted a smile at him, but the movement felt strange on his lips, his skin straining, the muscles in his cheeks protesting. "I know how you feel. Just the thought of losing him is unbearable. I couldn't- I wouldn't survive it. I love him more than you can imagine." 

They both sat in silence for a while, until Harry offered Niall to take a bath and clean himself of all the dirt and dust. He'd been travelling for a few weeks now and the leftovers from his work in the mines still stained his clothes and skin. 

As Niall disappeared into the bathroom, letting hot water into the golden tub, Harry kept up his façade, but as soon as the door was closed between them, the tears started flowing again and he was seized with a storm of weeping. His legs gave out under his body and he sank to the floor, his hands covering his face. Enormous sobs were shaking his entire body as the final realization set in that Louis would not be coming home in just a few weeks. God knows when he'd return to Moscow. _If_ he'd return…

For all these months, Harry had felt like he'd been drowning, but at least he had always managed to somehow keep his head above the water. Now- now the waves had swallowed him whole and there was no air anymore, nothing. He'd done it all wrong.  
_He_ had let them go to Nosrilsk, _he_ had passed the law that made so many men work there, _he_ was the one to blame, _he_ \- 

Suddenly, he felt something sling around his body- an arm. Niall. 

Harry hadn't even heard him return from the bathroom, dressed in one of Harry's fine silk gowns, hadn't noticed him kneeling beside him and taking him into his arms. "Shhh... It's not your fault, Harry," Niall whispered in his ear, his hand steadily stroking Harry's back. "Whatever you do, don't you ever dare think it's your fault, Harry. Never, okay?" 

Harry just sobbed in response and buried his head in Niall's neck. He didn't know how long they stayed on his bedroom floor, but eventually his sobs ebbed off and he felt an immense exhaustion pulling him away from consciousness. He fell asleep to the sound of Niall whispering comforting words in his ear, the thoughts of Louis being buried beneath a rain of rocks and debris burning themselves in his mind and heart, haunting him even after the release of sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, guys, I'm really sorry for this messy chapter and that it was updated so late and that it's so horribly depressing...  
> I really hope you got some sort of enjoyment out of reading, anyway. 
> 
> The songs for this chapter are "All I want" by Kodaline and "Waves" by Dean Lewis.
> 
> So, thanks for reading and I hope your day goes better than Harry's... <3 ;)


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> All the speeches and decisions.

Harry woke up on the carpet of his bedroom floor, turning his head to see Niall sleeping next to him, his expression peaceful, mouth slightly opened. Harry didn’t want to disrupt his peace, so he quietly scrambled to his feet. He had to be alone right now.

Leaving the palace doors behind, he stood on the gravel leading up the stairs and watched the bars separating the Kremlin from the rest of the city. The bars Louis had been standing behind on that day in summer when he’d first visited Harry in the palace. That day seemed like an eternity ago now.

He motioned for the guard to open the gate to the still sleeping city beyond, only a few early vendors already setting up their stands on the red square. The days were short in the winter, so everyone was up and about earlier than in the summer months. The watery winter sun tried and failed to bleed through the clouds looming over the city, the wind a bloom across the rooftops.

He eased down the slope of a steep street leading to the walls bordering the city, the bright coloured domes atop the cathedrals and churches glowing around him like a shimmering memory of summer. Harry was numb to all of it, though. He didn’t even feel the biting cold stinging his cheeks as he walked down the road he’d have known blindfolded by now, snow crunching under his boots. Oblivious to anything but the raging thoughts clawing inside his mind, poisoning his innards and his veins and his blood.

After an hour that seemed like mere seconds, or maybe an eternity, Harry reached the abandoned farm house, snow dusting its roof and fields behind. There was no trace of the bright sea of  
sunflowers anymore, only a seemingly infinite white layer of snow, stretching to the horizon. He didn’t make for the door to the house and instead steered towards the forest behind it.

The forest felt now, more than ever, like it had been formed from the words read to him as a child. Stories about Morozko, the demon of winter, the father of frost, with his eyes as blue as sapphires or the sky on a winter morning and his voice the wind itself.

The clearing he and Louis had spent their last night together in greeted him with its mocking unharmed beauty, no trace in the sparkling snow. It looked so different from the last time had had been there. So different, because this time, there was no emerald grass tickling his dirty feet; no smell of pine needles and skin warmed by sunlight; no Louis laughing about something Harry had said, crinkles forming by his eyes and no Louis promising him to not forget him and to come back.

The river was frozen now, a layer of thick ice covering the current and the water they had swum in the night of Ivan Kupala. Harry sat down in the snow at the river’s shore and stared at the icy surface. He didn’t know how long he sat there like that- maybe minutes, maybe hours, maybe days, maybe years. Time was irrelevant without Louis. Always had been.  
At some point, he stopped feeling his toes, then the tips of his fingers. He knew he should head back now, knew that he should get up, go find some place warm, but he was numb to all of it.

At some point, he must have gotten up, though, as he found himself inside the walls of the Kremlin again. But instead of going back to his room, he went to the peafowl fountain in the gardens and sat down on the rim, staring at the flowerbeds before him which were covered with awnings to protect the plants from the snow. A small bird was sitting on one of those awnings- A clear sign of the coming spring. The birds were returning.

Harry narrowed his eyes to see the bird better and recognized it as a swallow. Maybe the same one he’d been feeding while talking to Liam on that balcony the hottest day of the year. His own words echoed in his head at that thought. _Swallows always return to their mates. They always find their way back home._

The sky began to darken like a bruise and Harry let his head come to rest against his knees, pulled up to his chest, and breathed in the sliver of space as dusk thickened- So apparently it had been hours he’d spent at the river.

The sun was almost gone when the air shifted at his back and a hand settled in his hair.  
And this time, like all the other times before, he didn’t have to turn around to know who was standing behind him - being there when he was needed most, keeping his promise.

“Harry,” he said, and Harry turned his head to see Liam sitting next to him, one hand draped on Harry’s shoulder. There was so much in that one word, so much understanding, compassion and commiseration, Harry started crying again. And Liam was there to hold him, to simply be there and understand him. “I came as soon as the news reached me. I want you to know it’s not your fault, Harry. It’s not.” When Harry finally met his gaze, he read the question in his eyes. The constant concern. The gentle pressing. _Talk to me._

“I can’t do it, Li. I can’t do anything,” Harry said, voice quiet, low. “I can’t rule this goddamn Empire on my own, I can’t protect the ones I love, I can’t make people stay, can’t make them not leave me, and I also can’t do what I want to do. You know I need to see him, Li. You know I have to go to Norilsk. But we both also know that I could never go there. I’m the Tsar, and I’d never be allowed to travel to the other end of Russia for seemingly no season. The council would never allow it. They’d combust at just the thought of it. I’m helpless, Liam. I’m absolutely helpless on my own. I need him, I need my mother, I need my sister, and I need you. I’ve always needed you.”

He lowered his eyes and started fingering the rings on his fingers again, the habit his father had hated so much. _Stand up straight, square your chest, shoulders back, chin high, legs apart. Don’t ever show them your vulnerability, don’t ever let them see that incertitude. It makes you look weak, Harry. And a Prince -_ a Tsar _\- is not weak._

He could hear Liam sigh next to him. “Remember when you were nine and I was ten and we went on that hunting trip with our fathers?” he asked but didn’t wait for a response. “Your father had his mind set on shooting a bear that summer. He told us we’d only get to leave this forest again when that bear was dead, a bullet through its eye. But you hated the thought of killing something. Even the geese the men on the hunting trip shot out of pure boredom while waiting for something bigger to come their way. You cried for each dead thing, shed a tear for every single one. We both hated it there, but it was especially bad for you. I remember you picking flowers for one of the dead birds that had been forgotten by the men on the forest floor. You covered the bird in those wild flowers and even said a prayer for it. Your father was so angry with you, he scolded you for an entire hour and I think you also had to take a few hard hits for it. But you didn’t care- you stayed stubborn. You told the men outright in the face how barbaric their behavior was and that you hated all of them… It’s still the bravest thing I’ve ever seen someone do, Harry. You were only eight, but you had more courage and kindness in your little finger than all of them put together had in their entire body. I never would have dared to stand up to them- I was too scared of the blows it would cost me. In the end, they did end up killing that bear, though, and you started crying and ran away. You got lost, Harry. I remember all of the men looking for you in the forest at night. There were entire search parties for the little prince - everyone was sure you had been eaten by a bear. Which would have been ironic, really, because you were the one trying to save them from the hunters… At some point, I was told to return to the Palace and get some rest. I think they expected to find your dead body in the woods and didn’t want me to see it. But when I came back to the palace, I immediately went to your chambers, maybe to cry a bit. And there you were - sitting by the oven in a thick blanket, a cup of tea in your hands, reading a book. You had been wandering through the forest for hours, but you had found your way out alone and just gone back to the palace. I remember your feet being covered in blisters, thorns all over your floor, scrapes on your elbows and knees. But you made it. _On your own_. You told me you followed the sun and looked how the moss grew on the trees so you knew the cardinal directions. Because the sun sets in the west and you knew the palace was westwards. You made it out by just being you, by following the sun and you didn’t need anyone else for it. You’re brilliant, Harry. Really, you are, and trust me, you don’t need anyone else to help you find out your way alone. You don’t need me. You can be one of the kindest, smartest, best Rulers this Empire has ever had. Just by being you. Do you trust me? Then please trust me when I tell you that no one, _no one_ , can do it better than you. You’re not like those men hunting the birds and the bear, you’re the boy who plucks flowers and then prays for them, because you’re you and you don’t do what they tell you to. And that’s exactly what makes you so perfect for this crown, Harry. And for all the people living under it.”

Harry looked at him, at a loss for words. So, instead of saying anything, he just embraced Liam once more - his right-hand man, his friend, his brother. And maybe, just maybe, a little part in the back of his mind believed the words.

***

Harry slowly opened the door to his chambers. Liam was laying down in his old room resting from the long journey to the palace. He saw Niall sitting on one of the armchairs by the window, feet pulled up to his chest, skin washed clean again, though Harry could now see just how pale his face had actually become during those long months in the mines at the far northern end of Russia.

To Harry’s surprise, Niall was holding a knife, whittling a block of fine-grained wood. Something looking like a wooden flower was taking shape under his deft fingers.

He looked up when he heard Harry entering, a ghost of a smile forming on his face. A reminder of the Niall Harry was used to. The one who was always smiling, not a trace of a shadow on his jolly features. He didn’t ask where Harry had been- probably already had an idea.

Noting Harry’s questioning look, he followed his gaze to the wood work in his hands. “My father taught us to whittle,” he explained by way of greeting. “He used to make anything you could think of- he’d whittle small people, flowers, animals… anything, really. Makes me feel like he’s still here when I have a piece of wood and a knife in my hands. Like I’m still that little boy he taught his craft to so many years ago- like nothing has changed. It’s a nice feeling. Bit difficult to whittle with just one hand, though.”

He set down the wooden flower and the knife on a small table next to him and rose to his feet, his uninjured hand rummaging through the pockets of his old, dirty trousers, looking for something. “I forgot to give this to you yesterday. Lou wrote lots of these when we were working there, late at night when everyone else was already sleeping. Annoyed the living hell out of the ones still trying to fall asleep, though. I thought you might want to have these. I just picked the most recent one. Couldn’t find all the others.” Harry brows creased when Niall’s hand finally pulled something out of the pockets, coming up with a wrinkled piece of paper full of ink stains.

Niall held it out and Harry reached for it, his fingers once again shaky, his chest feeling too tight for his ribcage. His fingers closed around the soft, slightly scratchy material, his fingernails scraping across the tiny fibres. Niall gave him an encouraging nod and another small smile, then he mumbled something about going to look for some food in the kitchens and using that golden loo and walked off, softly closing the door behind him.

Harry was left alone in the room, just him and the letter in his hand. He slowly lowered himself on the bed, leaning against one of the wooden bedposts. The bed he and Louis had jumped around on, their loud laughter filling the air of the room, the city, the world.

Now it felt like there was no air in the room at all. Harry clenched his fingers into a fist, breathing in through his nose, out through his mouth, until the lightness in his limbs faded, until the walls of the room stopped pressing in on him- until he could open the letter in his hands, look at the paper, and the scribbly letters of Louis’ clumsy handwriting stopped blurring before his eyes.

He took one last deep breath and started reading.

 

_Dear Harry,_

_I know you’ll probably never get to read this letter, but I’m writing it anyway because you never know, do you? And it somehow feels like I’m talking to you. Like you’re here, beside me. Colorful and alive like I remember you._

_This place is anything but colorful and alive. It’s grim and grey and dead. The people here are lifeless and sad, the nights are long and the work hard. We haven’t seen an ounce of sunlight in so long, I can barely remember what warmth feels like. But the thought of you gets me through, Harry._

_When I think of your contagious laughter, the way you scrunch your nose while doing it and how your eyes lighten up when you just thought of one of your terrible jokes. The way you look at your feet when you don’t know what to say and the way you look at me when I’m moving inside you and the way you stretch your face towards the sun like you’re trying to kiss it._

_One night, when you lay next to me and the moonlight illuminated your side, I just looked at you, afraid that if I fell asleep or looked away, I’d miss something. I tried to remember everything about you, every small little detail of your face. You looked so peaceful Harry, so content and happy and when you smiled in your sleep, I was always wondering if it was because of me. If you were dreaming of me. I really wanted to know what was going on behind your eyelids, in that crazy, beautiful, fascinating mind of yours. Now I’m glad that I did, because that way, when I close my eyes now, I can pretend you’re laying next to me, curls tickling my nose, your breathing steady and heavy in the air. It’s the most beautiful thing to behold, I’d definitely recommend it._

_I know this is the sappiest thing that’s ever been said, but it’s true. These thoughts, Harry, are what keeps me sane in here. The memories about your laugh and how the sun caught in your hair, they chase away the shadows and the darkness and bring a smile to my face, they make me keep going. Because, Harry, how could I ever give up, when I have you to come home to?  
Or just you. Because Home and Harry have somehow become the same thing along the way. _

_The two of us. That’s home._

_We excavate diamonds here in the mines, Harry, the most beautiful diamonds you have ever seen (or maybe not, you’re quite used to diamonds I suppose). They are not yet smoothed and sanded, but rough and sharp-cut. They flash and gleam, but I would much rather see the beauty of the sunflower fields back home, softly swaying in the breeze. They are so much more beautiful to me, especially when you're standing in them, leaning forward and plucking a small flower to tuck in your hair, like you did that day in summer._

_I’m trying to figure out how to write this letter, how to convey everything I want to say to you, but I’m doing a really terrible job at it, aren’t I? I need to stop babbling._

_Anyway… Let me tell you something you hopefully already know._ I love you _. I’m in complete and utter love with you. I am_ catastrophically _in love with you._

_Which is unfortunate really, because it is an unchangeable fact that you are the Tsar of Russia and I’m a farmer who grows sunflowers and is a stranger to any of the exquisite luxury you are used to. But you know what? It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter, because when two people love each other as much as we do, nothing else matters. Nothing. Only their happiness. Your happiness, Harry. And I promise you, I will do anything, anything, to make you the happiest person alive. Whatever that takes._

_I want to protect you, Harry, even though I know I can’t always do that. I want to protect you from everything bad and evil. From the world. I want to wrap you in you in my arms and hide you from the rest of the world. But I know I can’t. Not always._

_On the day of your coronation, when you stood there in that big coat and were placing that crown on your head, sitting on that huge golden throne, you looked so fragile and small and I just wanted to swoop you off your feet and run away with you, somewhere sunny and warm, where that crown didn’t rest atop those beautiful curls of yours, Harry.  
But I didn’t and I couldn’t. Because as much as you looked like a little scared child who needed saving, you looked like a ruler, Harry. You looked like a leader, like a king. _

_I know you think that you shouldn’t be the Tsar, that you aren’t able to do it. But that’s not true. Because you, Harry, you are the best leader this kingdom could hope for. You’re smart and affectionate and benignant and benevolent and kind and so goddamn charming you could make friends with the nearest tree and he’d be willing to give his life for yours. And you’re also funny. (Just so we’re clear, your jokes are still terrible, though). I really hope you know that, Harry. (What are good Tsar you are I mean, not that your jokes are terrible, but you should also know that of course. But please don’t stop telling them. Ever. Oh, and I never said that.) Trust me, I know what I’m talking about._

_This letter is getting really long now and my bloody hand really hurts already and Niall, the stupid bastard, just grunted that I should turn off the light.  
I only want to say this: I know it’s hard. Maybe even impossible, what we’re set out to do. But I know for a fact, that if anyone can make it work, it’s us. We’re brilliant Harry. You and me. Together. (Even though I’m also pretty brilliant on my own, but it takes you to make me even brillianter.) _

_So, Harry - my Love, my King: We’re going to be alright. We’re going to be okay._

_It’s not going to be perfect, I know that, but as long as I have you, that doesn’t matter because you are already pretty fucking perfect Harry. Just. Like. Me._  
_I will do anything it takes for that. And I promise you, I’ll never stop fighting for you. For us_.  
_I know we’ll have to get there the hard way, but that’s okay. Because sometimes the hard way can be the more beautiful way. And I know that when you are next to me, it will be._

_Niall, if you’re looking through my stuff and you’re secretly reading this, like the noisy bastard that you are, kindly fuck off, thank you very much. Oh, and just so you know and don’t feel left out, I love you too, you stupid little sunshine._

_Harry- I love you. So much._

_Yours sincerely,  
_ _Louis._

_***_

The Svistok -the needle- poked the clouds in the grey sky just like any other day. And as Harry made his way up the run-down stairs to the top of the familiar tower it was also like any other day. Because it was. It was like any other day since Harry’s been four years old and his shoulders felt heavy, laden with problems and sorrows, and he made his way up the creaky stairs to the room at the top.

When he was younger, those problems were childish problems, of course. A scolding by his tutor, a row with Liam about who could climb the Kremlin walls faster and if he even dared to do it, a difficult piece on the piano he just couldn’t get right… But they hadn’t been less important or heavy than the ones in the following years, of course. Children’s problems never are.

Until today, when Harry climbed the stairs with a heart that felt like someone had put weights in it and it was dragging him down, making him tumble off the stairs and to the ground, where he lay, bleeding and hurting. That’s what he felt like, at least, as he knocked against the door and waited for Volodya’s voice telling him to come in. Every time, without fail.  
This time was no different, everything so painfully ordinary and familiar when the reality was that everything was exactly not that. The world didn’t feel familiar and ordinary anymore- nothing did. Not with the letter in his pocket, buzzing with energy and guilt.

Volodya was sitting in his rocking chair, pipe hanging from the corner of his mouth like the time in this tower moved differently than in the rest of the world- months out there mere seconds in here. Harry could almost believe that he was four years old again, entering this room for the very first time; the picture he was greeted with still the same after all those years.

“Sit down,” Volodya mumbled through the pipe in his mouth, the tendrils of smoke rising above his head. “And then tell me about the boy.”

Harry looked up at that- looked at Volodya puffing on his pipe like they were just having a pleasant conversation about the weather.

“He works - worked- in the mines. But he was in the mine shaft that collapsed a few weeks ago and now he’s badly hurt. I don’t know how he is, the only thing I do know is that I need to see him. I really need to see him. But I can’t, because with that stupid crown come all these stupid chains and weights and they hold me back from actually going there. A Tsar can’t just leave his palace to see some farmer who may not even survive,” Harry said, voice bitter.

Volodya nodded in understanding and slowly lowered his pipe, setting it loosely on his lap and cleared his throat. “Harry, my boy,” he began. “Love is a complicated thing. I’ve never mastered the art of it myself. So, instead, I’ll do what I do best: Tell you a story. I’ve told you many stories, Harry. But now I want to tell you the most important one of all. It’s the story of a little boy who grew up in a palace, surrounded by rules and expectations. He did as he was told, obeyed the rules like so many had before him. But you see, that actually isn’t entirely true. He didn’t always obey the rules, not fully. He found little acts of rebellion, little actions of disobedience- maybe so small it wouldn’t even be noticed by the blind eye. But through these little acts, he always stayed true to himself and what he believed in. That you should always be a little kinder than you have to be, leave the world a better place than you found it. It’s not easy following ones believes in a world with people that don’t share these believes. Little acts of himself made him become the best ruler the kingdom had ever seen. But you see, with time he had grown into his chains and ties, almost grown accustomed to them. Which isn’t good. One should never grow accustomed to something that’s holding them back- keeping them from fighting.”

Voldoya turned his gaze to Harry now, a fire raging in the icy blue of his unseeing eyes, voice firm. “You’ve always stayed true to yourself with these little acts of rebellion, Harry, of originality. But you can do better now. You write your own fate, you choose what to do. This empire doesn’t matter, this crown doesn’t matter, this court doesn’t matter- not when there’s a boy you love who you need to see. Not when you truly care about him.” He leaned back in his chair again and picked up his pipe, relaxed like nothing had happened. “Hearts weigh heavier than crowns, boy. He needs you and so does this empire. It’s your choice which you need more.”

The answer to that was simple, of course.

Suddenly, Volodya held out one of his wrinkly hands, covered in age spots. On his palm lay a purple blossom with a delicate blush of yellow in its center, filigree white lines spreading from it to the blossom’s edge.

“A pansy,” Voldoya said, looking out the window in the direction of the gardens. On his way to the tower, Harry had noticed the occasional puddles of water from already melting snow, a clear sign of the nearing spring. “The legend of the pansy says the flower was originally white but turned bright purple where it had been pierced with Cupid’s arrow, the god of love. Since then, it’s said that if you stare into a pansy you can see the face of a loved one, or of the thing you want most in this world. Why don’t you try it?”

Harry gave him an amused smile, lifting his brows. He lowered his gaze to the blossom in his hand and stared at the blossom’s blushing center until the colours started blurring before his eyes. He didn’t need to ask a flower about who the love of his life was, though. He already had the answer to that. The problem was that said person was currently hundreds of miles away, on the other side of the country and Harry couldn’t get to him. That was the goddamn issue.

Thoughts and memories of Louis were drifting past in his head, creating a maelstrom of emotions and love. After a while, he looked up again, his eyes meeting the window leading to the gardens outside. There was a tree growing in front of it, its branches slightly scraping the stone walls of the tower. Two birds were sitting next to each other on one of those branches, looking at him. Two swallows. Maybe one of them was the same bird he had seen on the flower beds the day before, or maybe it was just a coincidence. But somehow, that was it.

Two swallows. Swallows were mates for life. They always found their way back home to each other, just how Harry would always find his way back to Louis, no matter the obstacles.

Volodya was right. Louis was his boy and he needed Harry by his side. Fuck responsibilities and duties. Fuck everything else. Nothing except Louis mattered. That simple; that clear.

Harry jumped to his feet. “Thank you,” he said, breathless. Volodya smiled at the birds outside the window. “Have a good journey, boy. And always remember: don’t set out on a voyage on a Monday and never say good-bye over a threshold. That’s bad luck.”

Harry smiled quietly. “I thought you said we write our own fate, no luck in the world could change that.”

Volodya shrugged his shoulders. “I can’t argue with old traditions, can I? They’re set in people’s brains.” He pointed at his own temple. Harry chuckled and then quickly turned around, hurrying to the door. Once again, it was time to get his boy back.

***

He rushed into his room where Niall was laying on the bed, flipping through one of his books with a bored expression on his face. As Harry stormed inside, he set the book aside and sat up. “What are you doing?” he asked, watching Harry throw seemingly random things into a small trunk.

“Packing,” Harry explained, rummaging through his massive wardrobe.

“You’re going?”

“Yes. He needs me, and I need him.” Harry stopped his hasty rummaging and turned around. “Do you want to come with me?”

Niall got off the bed. “Of course I’m coming with you. Why would you even ask that?”

Harry shrugged and threw something into the trunk. “You only just came back from there. And you’re still injured.” Niall made a dismissive gesture with his hand. “That’s nothing. I’m going to be fine. Besides, I’ve never travelled by railway before. I’m assuming that’s how you’re intending to get there…”

Harry nodded. “Of course I am. Do you think we’ll take the carriage to Norilsk? That’d take months and I have somewhere I really need to be as fast as possible, thank you very much.”

“Oh, I know, it was stupid of me to ask,” Niall said, suppressing a grin. “Of course your royal Highness only travels by railway nowadays, everything else is just too much for his fragile disposition and also can’t be good for his regal digestion. Those mobs can take the carriage or go by foot, but it is way too harsh for him,” he said, faux-concerned, one hand placed on his heart.

Harry threw a velvet blouse at him, stifling his laughter.

***

Harry had written a letter to the council telling them that Liam would be the one in charge during his absence, escaping their what would surely be less than pleased reactions to his departure. He couldn’t care less.

He got in the carriage, Niall following close behind, and then then knocked against the roof, signaling the driver to take off. The window was open, and the distinct smell of the city was being brought into the carriage by a cool wind. The colourful domes – green and scarlet and cobalt- shone dimly through the haze of smoke and morning fog.

Harry leaned out the window to watch the building pass by, saying goodbye to the familiar streets. The high golden towers of the Kremlin rose proudly above the desperate poor, and the icons of unreachable saints watched, inscrutable, while people came to kiss their stiff faces and pray. The streets were full of snowy mud, churned with innumerable feet.  
Harry leaned back in his seat again and closed the window, locking out the smell of fresh pastries and smoke.

After some time, they reached the railway and Niall got in, marveling at its sheer size and the luxury of the soft seats and ebony tables.

Harry turned around one last time, looking back over the city - his city- until he followed Niall into the compartment, turning his back to the golden domes and dirty streets, like a beautiful, elegant person with muddy feet.

He sat down on one of the velvet seats next to Niall who was staring out the window, admiring the sight of so many wealthy people on the platform. “You ready?” Harry asked, following his gaze to the people on the station.

Niall turned his head to look at him. “I am. Are you?”

Harry sighed and nestled up against him, taking his hand. “I don’t know. A bit scared maybe.”

Niall leaned his head on Harry’s. “Lou has always been really good at making you do the things you’re scared off.”

Niall put his own and Harry’s linked hands into the deep pocket of the coat Harry had lent him. Harry rested his cheek against Niall’s shoulder, not minding the jolting of the railway as it took off down the endless roads of Russia to his boy.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys, so we're slowly nearing the end of the fanfic, just as a heads-up. (There will be one more chapter and then the epilogue)
> 
> The songs for this chapter are "Long way down" by One Direction (yay!) and "Cold Water" by Damien Rice. Oh, and for Louis' letter the song is "It's OK" by Tom Rosenthal.
> 
> Thanks again so much for reading and I hope you all have a fabulous day/night/life! :)
> 
> P.S: Thanks to everyone who's been commenting, you're all exquisite :))))


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Harry and Louis reunite.

The manor was located on a patch of melting snow, the icy grass crunching under the soles of Harry’s boots. He looked down and saw a few small flowers peeking out in between the patches of muddy white. A smile crept on his face at the sight, despite his nervousness. _Podsnezhniks_ \- snow drops-, the first flowers of spring. Every time he had seen one of them growing somewhere as a boy, he always knew that the other ones would follow behind soon.

Above their heads, the stars were fading and the sky had turned grayish-purple with the slow sunrise. He directed his gaze back to the front steps of the house and swallowed. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Niall standing next to him.

Niall nudged him with his shoulder. “What are you waiting for?”

“I don’t know. I guess I’m nervous to see how bad it is. If he… The extent of his wounds.”

“Well, you’ll never find out if you keep standing here. Besides, I’m freezing my arse off.” He brought his hands to his mouth and blew a breath inside in an attempt to warm them, but he also didn’t make for the manor. Something told Harry that he was as scared of the looming building and everything waiting inside as he was.

“Let’s go,” Harry finally said determinedly and walked to the entrance of the house.

The big, wooden door was opened by a nurse who paled at the sight of him standing on the doorstep. “Your- your Majesty,” she stammered and sank into a clumsy curtsy.

“Good morning, milady. Excuse me to barge in on you like that without any announcement, but my visit here must be handled with extreme discretion, I must ask you to keep it confidential.”

The nurse nodded speechlessly and only stared at him with gaping mouth. Harry couldn’t help but notice the blood stains on her white garment. He felt light-headed and was grateful for Niall’s steady presence next to him.

“I’m here to see one of your patients. His name is Louis Tomlinson. He’s one of the victims of the mine collapse. Is he here? We’ve been travelling for a very long time now, so please tell me he’s still with you.”

The nurse seemed to gather herself again, straightened her shoulders and smoothed out her skirt, though she could not hide the curiosity on her face. “Yes, of course your Majesty. He’s upstairs. A fighter, that one.” She motioned for the two to follow her and lead them to a creaky staircase. “Follow me.”

They passed by dozens of rooms, the slightly ajar doors showing narrow beds occupied by men lying in them, none of them showing more signs of life than the occasional curious, nervous glance to the corridor.

Louis’ room was on the very top of the house, the only room in the tiny attic corridor. “We had to move him here, because there wasn’t enough space left on the ground floor.”

“So, he’s fine?” Harry asked, breathless.

“As I said, he’s a fighter, that one. His injuries were fatal when they brought him here, but we’ve secured the most dangerous ones. He’s stabile now. I think he can go home in a few weeks.” She hesitated for one moment before continuing. “But some of his injuries were just too fatal, so- Well, you’ll see.”

Harry didn’t like that statement, didn’t like it at all. But mostly, he was only swept away by a wave of gladness that Louis was save.

He reached out to turn the doorknob when Niall suddenly cleared his throat next to him. “Excuse me, but as your highness had already said, it’s been a very long journey,” he said to the nurse. “Could I maybe get a bit of food? I’m starving.”

“Yes, of course,” the nurse said and hustled back down the corridor, Niall following close behind. He turned around again and gave Harry an encouraging smile.

Harry mouthed a silent “ _Thank you,_ ” before Niall rounded the corner and was out of sight.

With one last, long breath, Harry finally knocked on the ebony wood and turned the doorknob to enter the dimly lit room behind. His stomach felt like the habitat of thousands of bees.

The chamber was small. It only consisted of a tiny fireplace in the corner with a few flames dancing along the logs in it; a closed, smudgy window; a table, and a stool standing next to the bed in the middle of the room. _The bed_. The bed with a man lying in it. As Harry slowly approached it, tears started stinging his eyes.

“Harry?” His voice sounded scratchy and raw, teary and unbelieving, and so so familiar. So Louis. Harry had to repress a sob at the sound of it.

“Louis!” he breathed and took in the boy lying under the dirty white covers. His face glowed with the chill, the shadow of a beard on his cheeks, and he was thinner than Harry had ever seen him, his collarbones peeking out from under his shirt; the fire cast shadows in the hollows of his cheeks and throat and temple. And he was pale- practically translucent, with those blue eyes Harry knew so well shining in the midst of the paleness. Blue blue blue.

In the next instance, Harry was kneeling on the ground beside the bed and was encompassed in Louis’s arms who had sat up with a small wince of pain. They clung to each other like a drowning man will clutch a raft, both of them trembling and crying.

Having his arms around Louis made it even clearer how thin he’d become. Harry could feel all of his bones shifting beneath his skin, as fragile as a bird’s. He buried his nose in Louis’ shoulder and whispered his name over and over again.

“You’re here,” Louis whispered. “You’re actually here. You came...”

“Of course I came. I read that letter of yours; I love you so much. God, I love you so so so much.” Louis pulled back slightly and covered Harry’s face in kisses; small, delicate pecks on Harry’s tear-stained cheeks, his forehead, his brows, his chin, and finally, one long, sweet, lingering kiss on his lips.

“C’mere,” he whispered and softly pulled Harry atop the bed, where they sat for a long while, simply existing and breathing next to each other.

“What happened?” Harry asked eventually. “Are you still hurting?”

Louis gave him a sad smile and caressed the skin of Harry’s hand with his thumb. “I got Niall out of there and then a rock suddenly came crashing down and- Luckily, they could stitch me up again here, but-“

Harry furrowed his brows, felt a crease forming between his them. “But?”

Louis sighed and slowly pulled back the blanket covering the lower part of his body. His torso was completely wrapped in bandages, but Harry could see purple and blue bruises bloom on the slices of skin that weren’t covered by the cloth. And then there was his left leg. Or what was still left of it. A dry sob escaped Harry’s throat as he looked at it.

“Hey,” Louis shushed him. “It’s not that bad. That’s why I’ve got two of them, right? They told me that I could get a set of dentures. I maybe won’t be running any marathons soon, or play catch with you, but at least I’m still alive, right? My torso were much more serious, apparently. Cracked ribs and all that. But it’s fine now,” he added as he saw the expression Harry’s face.

Despite of his words, Harry could hear the slight bitterness in them. “I’m so sorry, Lou,” he whispered and looked at his face again.

“It’s not your fault, Dimples,” Louis smiled. “It’s really not. I knew what I was doing when I stayed in the shaft.” He huffed a short laugh. “Work on the fields is going to be horrible now, though.”

Harry didn’t say what he knew they were both thinking: Working on the flower fields would be as good as impossible for Louis.

“Harry?”

“Yes?”

“Is it true you’re getting married?”

A beat of silence.

“Yes.”

Louis didn’t reply, only stared at the dancing flames in the fireplace. The wind sobbed outside.

“But it’s not as it seems,” Harry added quickly. “I don’t love her or anything. She’s like us, Lou. She’s in love with her maid and we both agreed to marry each other so that we can be with the people we’re truly in love with. So that I can be with you.”

Louis finally looked at him again, jaw clenched. Harry saw that his hands were balled to fists at his sides, gripping the sheets. “But you’ll be expected to produce heirs.”

Harry lowered his gaze to his hands laying in his lap. “It’s just a few nights.”

“Still.”

“Trust me, I also don’t want to. I’ll be thinking of you during every minute of it.” Louis didn’t answer. “I know it’s not ideal, but nothing ever is. I really tried making this work, and this is our best option, don’t you see that?” He turned to him again, one leg pulled up to his chest. “Please, Lou. Look at me.” After a few seconds, he did. “I love you, okay? I love you and only you.”

“But you’d still be living in the palace. First of all, don’t you think the people would grow suspicious if you left the city every day and no one knew where you were going? Or when I would visit you every day?”

“Then live in the palace with me. Let’s be honest, Louis, you can’t work as a farmer anymore, not with that injury.”

Louis was already shaking his head. “We’ve been over this, Harry. I don’t want to live by your alms.”

“You don’t have to.” He took Louis’ hands in his own and let his thumb glide over Louis’ knuckles. “Louis Tomlinson, will you be my gardener?” he asked solemnly. “The palace gardens could use your professional hands. Think of all the pretty flowers you could grow there. Not just sunflowers. Just like you always wanted.”

Louis stared at him. “You are mad, Harry Styles,” he said, but Harry could hear the smile in his voice.

He cupped Louis’ cheek, and he leaned into his touch as Harry quietly said, “Entirely.” He traced a thumb over Louis’ sharp cheekbone, savoring every inch of contact. “That’s why we’re so good together.” Louis’ eyes softened. “So?” Harry said. “You haven’t given me an answer yet.”

“It would be my honour to be your gardener, Harry. I promise to make sure there are only the most beautiful of plants in your gardens, the most colourful of blossoms, the most delicious smelling of fruits; only the best for you.”

“Is it too sappy if I tell you now that no flower will ever compare to you?” Harry asked and chuckled.

Louis’ eyes sparkled as he tried to suppress a grin. “Entirely. You can say it anyway, though. Take your chances.”

Harry’s face softened as he regarded Louis, a small smile still on his lips. “None of the flowers will ever compare to you, Louis,” he said slowly and Louis started laughing.

“I’m really not sure if I can ever forgive you for that one, Dimples.” Louis’ fingers curved around his. His hand was warm and callused and his touch made Harry shiver. His eyes were steady and blue; Harry’s favorite kind of drowning.

“I need you to promise me one more thing, Louis,” he said before he even realized the words had left his mouth.

“I can promise you everything, Harry,” Louis smiled.

“I want you to promise me to never leave me again. I never want to go through this ever again. Promise me that you’ll stay with me and never leave me, not even for one day. I could not bear it. Could not bear losing you again.”

Louis didn’t reply at once, and instead reached up and drew off a small wooden object hanging on a leather thong around his neck. He handed it to Harry who carefully took it and examined the little object. It was a tiny carven bird, with worn outspread wings.

He looked up, a lump in his throat. “Birds don’t belong in cages- they should fly.”

“Thank you,” he croaked. “It’s beautiful. Niall told me your father taught you two to carve.”

Louis nodded and watched as Harry hung the pendant around his neck, the bird resting against his chest. “Harry Styles, I promise you with everything I have and am, that I will never, never, leave you again. I’ll be by your side until I annoy you so much you want to push me out the nearest window, but I’ll always be there. But under one condition. You only need to do this one thing for me.”

Harry’s brows creased and his smile slowly ebbed off. He stared at Louis, all black and white against the night sky behind him, with the orange glow of the fire shimmering on his skin. So beautiful.

“Marry me,” he said. “Marry me, Harry. Marry me and make me the luckiest man on earth, marry me because it would not change a thing, would it? No matter what you say, I will not leave you again and I will love and cherish you forever and I will be by your side at the good and the bad times and there’s nothing you could do to change that. So might as well, right? Also, it rhymes and things that rhyme are always good.” Harry might have burst out laughing at that, had he not been so shocked. But before he could say anything, Louis started talking again. “Now, I know it won’t be legitimate or done by a real priest or with any guests and big ball and fancy food, but it will be with you, so I know it will be exquisite anyway. You make everything exquisite, Harry, no matter how dull it might seem at first.”

Harry held up a hand to signal Louis to stop talking. Louis immediately trailed off and closed his mouth. “Louis?”

“Yes?”

“Nothing in this world would make me happier than to be your spouse. Nothing. Who needs a crown when you can have rings, right? Louis Tomlinson, it would be my honour to marry you.”

Louis bit his bottom lip, his eyes twinkling. “So, that’s a yes?”

“Of course it’s a yes!” Harry yelled and threw his arms around Louis again, the bird dangling off his chest between their two bodies and him both soaring somewhere high up in the sky.

The moment was interrupted by the sudden opening of the door, Niall’s blonde shock of hair appearing behind it. Louis groaned, seemingly annoyed, but Harry could see the happiness in his eyes and that he was trying to hold back tears. So was Niall as he stormed towards the bed and enclosed his friend in a tight embrace. Harry smiled as he watched the two of them clinging to each other.

“Hey, Niall,” he said when the two of them let go of each other again. “How would you like an employment at the palace?” He raised his eyebrows. “You could use the golden loos as often as you want. I’m sure the flowers in the palace gardens would love to make your acquaintance.” At that, Louis and Niall burst out laughing.

“Harry Styles, you’re the only person I know that would ever say something like that,” Louis said through a broad grin.

“Well, you better get used to it, because I bet it will only get worse with age and you will be the one who will have to keep up with all the strange things that come out of my mouth.”

Niall gave them a questioning look. “Did I miss something?” Harry and Louis grinned at each other and Niall’s face lit up in understanding. “Ohhh, congratulations! I don’t know how you two made it work, but I’m sure you figured something out. I always knew you would.”

Harry was suddenly overcome with emotions and he pulled the two of them to his chest, ignoring Louis’ false protests and Niall’s laughter. He was filled to the brim with happiness and relief about being back with Louis, about his imperfect, infinitely complicated, beautiful life and about the road still laying ahead of him. In that moment, that road didn’t matter, only the right now. And that now was perfect.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys!  
> I'm so so so sorry about the late update, but there was just a lot going on... 
> 
> Hope you enjoyed the chapter anyway (Happy things, happy days, Harry says!") Wait, what was that? I'm sorry...
> 
> Aaaanyway, the songs for this chapter are "Coming home" by Gavin James and "Rose Petals" by S. Carey. 
> 
> The next chapter is the epilogue, so there are still a few things to come, I hope it won't take that long. I'll try...
> 
> Thank you so so much for reading and I hope you have a wonderful day/night! :)


	18. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An ending and the start of just another forever. May the flowers always bloom.

_Flower Of Love_

_Sweet, I blame you not, for mine the fault was, had I not been made of common clay  
I had climbed the higher heights unclimbed yet, seen the fuller air, the larger day._

_From the wildness of my wasted passion I had struck a better, clearer song,  
Lit some lighter light of freer freedom, battled with some Hydra-headed wrong._

_Had my lips been smitten into music by the kisses that but made them bleed,  
You had walked with Bice and the angels on that verdant and enamelled meed._

_I had trod the road which Dante treading saw the suns of seven circles shine,  
Ay! perchance had seen the heavens opening, as they opened to the Florentine._

_And the mighty nations would have crowned me, who am crownless now and without name,  
And some orient dawn had found me kneeling on the threshold of the House of Fame._

_I had sat within that marble circle where the oldest bard is as the young,  
And the pipe is ever dropping honey, and the lyre's strings are ever strung. _

_Keats had lifted up his hymeneal curls from out the poppy-seeded wine,  
With ambrosial mouth had kissed my forehead, clasped the hand of noble love in mine._

_And at springtide, when the apple-blossoms brush the burnished bosom of the dove,  
Two young lovers lying in an orchard would have read the story of our love;_

_Would have read the legend of my passion, known the bitter secret of my heart,  
Kissed as we have kissed, but never parted as we two are fated now to part._

_For the crimson flower of our life is eaten by the cankerworm of truth,  
And no hand can gather up the fallen withered petals of the rose of youth._

_Yet I am not sorry that I loved you -ah! what else had I a boy to do? -  
For the hungry teeth of time devour, and the silent-footed years pursue._

_Rudderless, we drift athwart a tempest, and when once the storm of youth is past,  
Without lyre, without lute or chorus, Death the silent pilot comes at last._

_And within the grave there is no pleasure, for the blindworm battens on the root,  
And Desire shudders into ashes, and the tree of Passion bears no fruit_

_Ah! what else had I to do but love you? God's own mother was less dear to me,  
And less dear the Cytheraean rising like an argent lily from the sea._

_I have made my choice, have lived my poems, and, though youth is gone in wasted days,  
I have found the lover's crown of myrtle better than the poet's crown of bays._

_-Oscar Wilde_

_***_

  


 

Harry scowled at the piles of papers on his desk that he had to sort through; letters from other rulers, lords angling for positions at court; the usual. He had put them aside for weeks now and had finally set aside this morning to wade through them.

With a heavy sigh, he sat down on the desk chair and started opening the first letter.

As he looked down at his hands, a smile formed on his face like it did every single time he looked at the silver-and-ruby band around his left middle finger. The feeling of the cool metal around his skin had become familiar over the past few years, but he had never quite gotten used to the joy he felt when he regarded it, remembering the night it had been slid onto his finger. It had been a small ceremony at night in the palace gardens, only them, Niall, Qitura with her lover, Volodya, the flowers around them, and the moon shining brightly above their heads, watching. Niall had held the ceremony, standing proudly upright, speaking the first words that came to his mind. Words about love, trust, compassion and loyalty. They had all known the ceremony was neither legal nor legitimate, but that didn’t matter. For as they had exchanged rings and smiles, it had felt like the biggest vow anyone could make, a promise that could never be broken. It was the sincerest thing both of them had ever done and they didn’t need the people’s validation or reassurance for it.

Harry’s finger softly grazed to surface of his ring, small smile still intact on his lips.

He was just about to finally tend to the waiting letters before him when he heard a quiet scratching at his door, then a small giggle. Without turning around, he said, “It’s impolite to spy on people without them knowing, so why don’t you come in so you can spy on me in my knowledge?”

The door slowly creaked open and Harry turned around to the two small children, a boy and a girl, standing on the doorstep, their faces flushed with laughter and slight sunburn. Their clothes were dirty and ripped at spots, half the pearls on the girl’s dress missing on hanging off loose threads.

“Don’t let Vasilia see you like this,” Harry advised. “When she caught me looking like that I had to go to bed three hours early for a week.”

“But we’re bored,” the boy complained. “When will you take us to the city again?”

“Oh, I would love to visit the vendors on the red square, they had such pretty dresses the last time!” the girl chimed in and clapped her hands ecstatically.

“Not today I’m afraid,” Harry sighed and motioned to the papers piling on the desk. “There’s a lot of work to be done. Also, Uncle Liam and Prince Zayn will arrive today. Maybe they could take you tomorrow.”

“But we’re bored _today_ ,” the girl countered and flopped herself onto Harry’s bedsheets, her wavy brown locks spreading around her head.

Her twin brother went to Harry instead and climbed onto his lap, looking at him with pleading green eyes. “Can’t you do something with us, father? It’s been an eternity since you played hide-and-seek with us the last time!”

Harry put his arms around the boy and rested his chin on the top of his son’s head. “Well, I guess I could use some fresh air,” he murmured with a look out the window. “Get a bit of sunshine before it gets cold.”

“But then we can build snowmen and have snowball fights,” the girl, Sasha, said while jumping around on the mattress. Harry had to repress a grin at the sight as he remembered the time he had done the same thing. _The bed feathers creaking with each impact, the smell of rain, skin touching skin, laughter, so much laughter…_

Feliks excitedly squirmed in his arms at the thought of the oncoming snow. He jumped off his father’s lap and grabbed his hand, pulling him to the door. Sasha landed on the floor with a soft thump and ran after them.

At first, Harry only reluctantly let himself be dragged along, but then he started running with them and even slid down the staircase railing on his behind.

They opened the glass doors to the gardens and were greeted with the warm late summer air and the sight of the lush plants and fountains around them.

“So, why exactly are we here now?” Harry asked, his hands on his hips.

Sasha and Feliks only grinned at him, their missing front teeth on full display, and then skipped down the gravel path without an answer. With a defeated sigh and one last look in the direction of his room and awaiting work, Harry followed them.

It was a lovely day indeed, fall coming at last to lay its fingers on the summer-dry grass; the clouds in the sky growing damp and soft.

He was so lost in thought he nearly crashed into his children as he saw the figure in the flower beds. Harry watched for a few moments, content with only looking at Louis. So beautiful.

He was bowing down, pawing in the earth, surrounded by flowers. Louis didn’t spot them, his face set in concentration, tanned forehead slightly creasing.

Sasha and Feliks screeched with joy and started running towards Louis, calling his name. Louis straightened his back and shielded his eyes with a dirty hand. His face lit when he saw the two children running towards him and opened his arms, sweeping Sasha off the ground as she reached him.

His smile brightened even more when Harry approached him as well, and he raised his brows. “Well done, children. I knew I could rely on you.”

Sasha and Feliks proudly puffed their chests, beaming. Harry gave them a questioning look. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I told them to come get you out for a while. You’ve been spending all your time working lately and I missed you.”

“Well, this country doesn’t run itself,” Harry said and took a step toward his spouse, enveloping him and his daughter in a hug.

“Heeey,” Feliks complained from the ground. Harry laughed and picked him up, including him in their big embrace.

“Why don’t you go play catch for a bit, children?” Louis asked after a little while, voice muffled by Sasha’s long hair.

“Only if you play with us,” came the instant reply.

“I’ll join you later,” Louis promised.

“But you said you’d show us how to make the flowers ready for winter. You said we could help you,” Feliks reminded him.

Louis sighed. “I will, just give us a few minutes.”

The children groaned as Harry and Louis set them on the ground again. “Fine.”

Louis grinned and ruffled their hair as the two started to sprint along the gravel path.

“Wait!” a voice suddenly called and they all turned around. Qitura was standing behind them, her hands on her hips as she regarded her children. “What have I told you about getting yourself so dirty?”

Feliks and Sasha looked at their feet. “Don’t wear your pearl clothes while doing it,” Sasha sighed.

“Exactly. And what is it you’re wearing, young lady?”

“My pearl dress,” Sasha sighed.

“Precise.”

“I’m sorry, mother.”

“Well, there’s nothing to be done about that now, is there? So I suggest we at least make good use of your ruined dress and see how fast you can run with it.”

Sasha glanced up to her mother, eyes bright.

“Well, what are you waiting for?” Qitura asked. “I’m a very fast runner.”

The children looked at each other, grins slowly starting to form on their faces and then took off running on their naked and dirty feet.

Qitura turned to Harry and Louis. “You’re welcome,” she smiled. “I think I’ve bought you a few minutes to talk, but then you must join us, Louis. I can’t live with my defeat from last time for much longer.”

“Will do,” Louis supplied.

Qitura grinned at them and then gathered her dress and ran after her children.

As soon as they were all gone, Louis grabbed Harry by the collar and was kissing him, hungry and fiery. “I haven’t done this in way too long,” he panted.

“I know,” Harry gave back in between kisses. “I’ve been so busy lately.”

Their tongues clashed once more, hot and demanding. The last time he had been this busy, they had been forced to take the desperate measure of having sex in a carriage while on their way to church. It had taken some careful maneuvering and hadn’t been planned, but with Louis against him like that, alone in a narrow space, all it had taken was one look into those blue eyes and Harry was unfastening his trousers. A moment later, Louis fingers were buried inside of him and Harry had groaned so loudly the driver had asked if everything was alright in there. Louis had just laughed. Harry had climaxed at the sound of it. It hadn’t been Harry’s finest moment, but without doubt he would sink to even lower levels soon.

“Tonight,” he promised. “When Liam and Zayn arrive, I will set aside my work anyway and then we can finally spend more time with each other again."

“Alright,” Louis said, a rogue smile tugging up the corners of his mouth. “I can’t wait.”

Harry smacked him on the bum. “Now go get them.”

Louis knocked against his wooden leg. “Even with this thing I’m still faster than they are, you’ll see. Nothing can stop the incredible Louis Tomlinson.”

“I love you,” was Harry’s reply.

“I love you too,” Louis said, gave him one last kiss and then joined Qitura and the children in their game, his slight limp barely noticeable.

Harry watched them in content for a few minutes, laughing along as Feliks, Sasha and Qitura wrestled Louis to the ground and started tickling him. Louis pretended to suffer agonies until his limbs went flabby and he closed his eyes, tongue sticking out his mouth in a faux death. Feliks and Sasha curled with laughter.

Eventually, Harry ripped his gaze from his family wrestling on the grass and turned back toward the palace with a sigh. Time for work.

On his way to the entrance, he passed the familiar grey slim tower he had spent so many days of his childhood in. He couldn’t help the faint sweep of sadness in his chest as he watched the faded colour on the stones, pale in comparison to the bright blue sky behind it. The tower had been empty for several months, its inhabitant no longer smoking pipes and handing out truths like warm pastries. Gone, leaving Harry behind with only a Volodya-shaped hole in his chest.

It had gotten better, though. Many nights spend being held by Louis, a funeral with lots of flowers and beautiful words, and time had helped ease the pain until it was bearable and he learned to live with his grand-uncle’s absence, just like he had learned to accept his mother and sister’s.

He continued his way back to his room and opened the door, the paper-laden table greeting him behind it. He had to choke his rising desire as the image of himself bent over it, Louis behind him flashed in his mind, memories of a day not long ago.

With another sigh, he sat down on his chair and began his work. An empire doesn’t run itself.

***

The sun was already low on the horizon, casting orange light over the palace gardens when Zayn and Liam finally arrived. They were greeted with much enthusiasm and joy, especially by Qitura and her children who hadn’t seen their uncles in a long time.

Qitura immediately threw her arms around her brother while Feliks and Sasha started firing questions at Liam. “Have you already stroked a real tiger?” “Is the weather very hot?” “Have you already gotten a sunburn?” “Have you brought anything for us?”

Liam laughed and fished a few presents from his pockets, presenting them to the children who shrieked with delight at the foreign delicacies. Harry watched it all, a smile on his lips, with Louis sitting next to him, gently stroking his knuckles with his thumb. The dying sun gave his hair a red glow like a flamy halo.

Niall also joined the group and his bright laugh floated over to them. The sun may have lifted itself a bit at the sound.

As the evening went on, the shadows on the grass grew bigger and the laughter more muffled and peaceful. Feliks and Sasha grew sleepy in Liam’s arms but were refusing to give in to their heavy eyelids, fighting against the urge to let them fall shut.

Qitura and her wife were chatting to Niall, Liam and Zayn when Louis suddenly pulled at Harry’s hand and they slowly backed away from their friends, trying not to attract attention. With a small giggle Louis lead Harry behind the rosebushes at the edge of the meadow and to a small pond behind them where they could not be seen or heard by anyone. It was a vacated space of garden where the flowers weren’t groomed and tended to grow in rows and in order, but rather in a beautiful sort of mess with even a few vines climbing the small wall separating it from the rest of the palace.

“I discovered it a few days ago. For some reason, I didn’t want to weed it. I like its messiness. It reminded me of us, somehow,” Louis said as he gently pulled Harry to the ground.

“You’re right. It’s beautiful,” Harry said and turned his head to the small dark pond next to them. Dragonflies pirouetted past his face and darted toward the surface of the moon-brushed water.

“So, about what we discussed earlier…,” Louis said, his lips pursed.

Harry laughed, and the next moment they were kissing. And in the next their hands were entangled in each other’s hair, and the next, Harry was lying on top of him, and then, their shirts were tossed to the ground.

Louis sat up, rested his brow against Harry’s chest and wrapped an arm around his waist. For a long minute, he only breathed in the scent of him. “I love you so much, Harry Styles. Sometimes I can’t even believe how much I love you and this life we have made for ourselves.”

Harry tugged his chin up with a finger. “It’s pretty perfect, isn’t it?” he grinned. “I love our children and our friends and our family, even though they’re all kind of the same thing. I love it all. And I love you. So much. I know I say it a lot, but somehow it feels like I have to tell you every single minute of every single day.”

A wicked grin. “Oh, believe me, I know. But I do like you saying it so often, so let’s go with the version of me not knowing it and needing to be reminded.”

“I love you,” Harry said with a chuckle and gave him a short kiss. And then another and another, each followed by a short “I love you.” Louis’ arms tightened around him with each short peck.

They fell silent, just staring at each other. Louis nuzzled the plane of Harry’s stomach and Harry dragged his hands through Louis’ dark hair, savoring the silken strands against his skin. Louis grinned and tugged him closer again, fingers stroking down Harry’s lower back, then pressed a kiss to his stomach, right over his navel. Harry could feel him smile against his belly, his fingers still exploring, coaxing.

“You drive me out of my mind,” Louis whispered. “Even after all these years, I still can’t believe I get to have this. Have you.”

Harry softly tugged his chin up again and gently planted another kiss on his mouth. “Thank you.”

Louis huffed a laugh. “For what?” he asked with gleaming eyes, hands still caressing Harry’s back.

“For making me feel like a real boy,” Harry answered and kissed the top of his hair. “When I’m with you, I’m not the Tsar of Russia or the bearer of a crown, but just Harry. You make me feel like myself and I can never thank you enough for that, Lou.”

Louis’ only reply was a quiet smile, his hands clamping on the back of Harry’s thighs, the only indication of him smoothly twisting Harry, pinning him to the flower bed as he nuzzled his neck. “Well, then you haven’t been yourself in way too long, because it’s been way too long since the last time I had you.”

“Then let’s make it worth the wait.”

“It always is,” Louis murmured onto his skin as he flexed his hips and brushed a kiss against Harry’s mouth, making his toes curl.

He slid a hand down to Louis’ trousers, eager for what was awaiting him there, when suddenly, there was a loud harrumph next to them and Louis almost fell off Harry in shock. They both stared at the intruder.

Niall stood behind the vine-covered wall, a hand covering his eyes. “I swear I didn’t see anything,” he quickly reassured.

“Niall Horan, what are you doing here?!” Louis asked, his jaw clenched and his eyes tightly shut.

“I’m here to inform you that your majesty’s presence is needed,” Niall said. “Can I look again? Please get dressed.”

“No, we won’t get bloody dressed!” Louis snapped. “You’re going to leave, is what will happen. You’re going to turn around and join the others at the lovely garden party, so we can all forget this conversation ever happened.”

“Sorry, mate! But a kingdom needs its Tsar.”

“And a husband needs his spouse!”

Harry sighed and knocked the back of his head against the earthy ground. “Can’t it wait?”

“I’m afraid not, Harry. But I’m sure you two will have some time later. Look, I even brought you your crown because I’m the best friend in the world, even if you want to murder me right now.”

“You know us far too well,” Harry said and took the heavy golden crown from Niall’s hand. “Fine, I’ll be there in a few minutes.”

“Splendid,” Niall chirped and turned to leave, fingers still over his eyes. “And I really didn’t see anything! At least, not a lot… Still too much, though.”

Louis threw a chunk of earth after him.

“So, tomorrow then?” Harry asked with another sigh.

The response was a groan.

“Or I could hurry, get whatever business they need me for out of the way and then come back as soon as possible.”

Louis cracked a small smile. “Naturally, I prefer that option.”

“Then I’ll be back,” Harry grinned and started pulling his shirt over his head.

He even put on his boots before starting to walk away, when Louis’ naked ankle suddenly hooked around his foot, stopping him. “Hold on,” he said and Harry looked back down at him again. His head was resting on one of his arms as he was lazily lounging in a bed of red roses, his naked chest still slightly sweaty from the moments before and the warm air. He was so beautiful it sent an actual ache through Harry’s chest.

Louis reached out his free hand and pulled Harry down for another kiss. Their hot tongues clashed with a fiery passion and Harry gently traced Louis cheekbone with the tip of his fingers.

“I can’t wait to spend my forever with you, Louis Tomlinson,” Harry said against his mouth. He could feel Louis’ lips curve into a smile as he remembered Harry saying those exact words at their wedding ceremony years ago.

When Harry straightened his back again, he could feel something soft tickling the shell of his ear. His fingers reached out to touch the thing Louis had softly tucked behind his ear during the kiss- a rose. He hadn’t even noticed it. Harry could smell the sweetness of the velvety red petals. “Thorns and all,” Louis mouthed from his spot in the flower bed and smiled one of his smiles that were as sweet and soft as the rose petals caressing Harry’s hair.

With one last lingering smile, Harry straightened his shirt and turned to leave. He had already taken three steps when Louis’ voice behind him called, “Oh, and your highness; Your crown is lopsided- maybe you should sort that out! We wouldn’t want people coming to the wrong conclusions about things, do we?”

Harry looked over his shoulder, a rogue smile tugging up his lips. “I don’t know. I actually really grew to like those.”

Louis smiled back, his blue eyes gleaming with adoration and love. “Hurry up, I don’t want to wait any longer.”

Harry walked backwards, not wanting to take his eyes of the boy before him. His beautiful, sweet boy.

“I’ll hurry,” he called over his shoulder as he turned the corner, straightening the crown atop his head, smiling when his fingers shortly grazed the flower behind his ear. “And then we’ll start our forever,” he whispered to himself, but Louis still heard him.

“I’ll wait for you.” Harry could hear the smile in his voice. “With a surprise. Just a warning: The surprise involves me, a bit of fruit and maybe also a few flowers. Actually, a full sea of flowers. Only the best for my boy. You deserve oceans of love and flowers, Dimples.”

Harry stopped dead in his tracks. “What for?” he grinned.

“Not to give away too much, but I’ll need something to cover me down there in case Niall decides to barge in on us again.”

Harry’s voice was a bit rough when he replied. “I’ll be right back..”

Louis’ laughter drifted through the sweetly smelling air, loud and plangent, like a glim of sunlight on water or the gleam of a crown. Harry’s favorite sound and one that he wanted to hear every single minute of every single day of every single year of their forever.  
It made him quicken his steps so he could return to the sound of it and the beautiful boy lying in a field of red roses, waiting for him.

The smell in the air, the feeling of the warm breeze in his hair, the dragonflies dancing around his head, the sight of Liam, Zayn, Niall, his children, Qitura and her wife all peacefully lounging on the grass, the thought of Louis, it all had the unmistakable melody of forever edged into it. The good and the bad, just like a rose and its thorns which didn’t make it any less beautiful, just a great deal more interesting.

An amazing outlook on his forever.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, this is it... What a ride it's been...
> 
> THANK YOU ALL SO MUCH FOR READING!!! Special thanks to everyone who's also been commenting, you are amazing and your lovely words mean a lot to me <3
> 
> Songs: "Soul and the Sea" by Joshua James and "Rose Petals" by S. Carey. 
> 
> Another huge thank you to all of you for reading!!! (I hoped you enjoyed reading it as much as I did writing it)
> 
> Thank you. Love you! :)


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